On His Mind
by WonderfullyStrange801
Summary: Scabior couldn't forget the perfume scent, nor the fact that there was a girl out there somewhere who had become his new obsession. He knew he would do anything to find her, and anything to keep her with him, even if it meant defying all he's ever known.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:**

**Rating: T (mild language/ mature themes)**

**Pairing: Scabior!Hermione**

**(thanks for reading!)**

1.

**Hermione**

Her eyes watched the flames of the fire, licking and spitting against the thick twigs she'd gathered, and felt her mind beginning to wander. It wasn't very smart of her do this, and it was something she regularly tried to avoid while it was her turn to keep watch at night, but lately she just couldn't help it. Ever since Ron had left, Hermione found herself plagued with thoughts that revolved solely around him and him alone. She wondered where he was, how he was doing, and, more often than not, if he'd been captured by any snatchers. This one lead her to an even further disturbing question: was he still alive?

That particular night, Hermione was sitting cross-legged in front of the tent with her hands clasped together in her lap, thinking about the possibilities of Ron's capture, when she heard it: a crack, coming from somewhere deep in the forest that spread out in front of her. There had been a few false alarms before this, moments when the fire had made a noise that sounded like someone's footsteps crunching against the decaying leaves on the ground. But this time, Hermione was positive that it had not been the fire, and as soon as the noise reached her ears, she whipped her head to the side, eyes wide and heart hammering wildly against her ribcage.

She couldn't see very far into the trees that seemed to cluster together into a dark, mysterious heap, and this made her even more worried. Wand in hand, she got to her feet, and began towards the direction of the noise, her eyes darting around her. Each agonizing step seemed to echo, and despite her attempts to balance her weight on the balls of her feet, she still managed to crunch the leaves and break the deafening silence. She could hear herself breathing loudly as well.

A couple yards from the tent, Hermione stopped to listen again. The entire forest was quiet. Whatever had made the previous noise had either left, or stopped as well. She swallowed, feeling every muscle inside of her beginning to relax from the previous, tense coils they'd wound into. But that was when the heavy, thudding footsteps against the forest floor suddenly became apparent and this time, when she looked to the right of her, she could see the source of the noise.

It was Fenrir Greyback.

And he wasn't alone.

A group of three men were making their way down the dirty knoll, kicking aside leaves and twigs as they drew closer and closer to where Hermione stood. She felt her stomach beginning to church when she noticed that Fenrir and another snatcher were carrying limp bodies in their arms. Who were those people? And what had they done to end up where they were now?

A man walked past where she stood, so close that Hermione could have reached out and touched him. He was a taller man, with thick, dark brown hair loosely tied back. There was a streak of red throughout the locks, which her eyes were almost immediately drawn to. She looked at his face, his angular chin and furrowed eye brows that sent a dark shadow across his features, and then she took in the odd, plaid pants he wore and the leather jacket with a red band on the sleeve. He was a snatcher.

She'd never seen him before, although she wasn't one to brush shoulders with his kind regularly. He looked to be the leader of the three, just from his confident strut and the fact that he was the only one not carrying a body. He had an air of importance to him as well, one that she caught as soon as he walked past. Holding her breath, she waited, praying that they'd pass by quickly and she could return back to the tent to tell Harry.

"What's that?" the man stopped walking, causing Fenrir and the other to stop as well.

Never had Hermione ever doubted her own magic, but at that moment, she felt panic growing deep from inside of her as she thought about her enchantment. Could the man see her? The others didn't seem to, as they watched their leader with curious gazes, oblivious to what made him halt.

Eyes narrowed and wandering the length of the forest, the man slowly fell back a few steps, until he was standing right in front of Hermione. She inhaled sharply without thinking, but she'd been caught off guard by the accuracy of his steps. If he couldn't see her, how did he know where she was standing?

He was looking past her, one hand poised as he sniffed the air suspiciously. "What's that smell?"

So that was it. He could smell her.

**Scabior**

The scent seemed to come out of nowhere. It wasn't anything that could be produced from the forest, and it was so sweet that it made him immediately think of a woman, more specifically a young woman. But where was she? All that lay before him were trees, a dark night's sky, and two idiots who were looking around them for someone rather than the scent that had caught Scabior's attention. He felt like informing of this, but he was so intrigued and puzzled by the smell that he fell quiet, focusing only on finding out where it was coming from. All he'd done so far was narrow it down to one spot, but there was nothing there to give him any more hints.

His best guess was that it was perfume, which should have meant that the person possessing it had just passed through the woods before them. But that wasn't the case. This was an ongoing smell, one that had yet to fade with its lack of source. It was still right there in front of his face, and as he inhaled, it only grew stronger, and he knew he was in the right spot. But where was it coming from?

The more he inhaled, the dizzier with curious thoughts Scabior became. It had been so long since he'd smelled a woman's perfume, missing it from his years spent in Azkaban, and now that he was standing in the midst of a strong cloud, he found himself reluctant to move. Whoever was wearing that perfume was intriguing him, and he was now determined more than ever to find out just who exactly that was.

There was a loud thud from behind him, and he turned around to see that one of his companions, a man whose name he'd never actually learned, had dropped the woman he'd been carrying.

Scabior scowled at him. "What're y'doin'?"

"It's heavy."

All of the anger and frustration Scabior had kept inside of him from the mysterious scent made him seethe at the man, and walk towards him, momentarily forgetting about what had drawn him away. "Oh sorry! D'you want me to carry it?"

"Yeah."

"Don't be ridiculous! Pick it up!"

The man bent down and struggled to lift the woman back into his arms. As they continued on their way, Scabior fell back behind him and Fenrir, making sure to catch the entire trail of the perfume before it disappeared. As soon as it was gone from the air, he looked back over his shoulder, but could only see the same empty field he'd seen before. He wouldn't soon forget that scent, though. It was sure to stay with him, and now he was hunting more than just Harry Potter; he had to find that girl, too.


	2. Chapter 2

2.

**Hermione **

"That treacherous little bleeder!" Ron seethed. "Is there no one we can trust?"

Harry looked at him solemnly. "They kidnapped her because he supported me. He was just desperate."

Behind them, Hermione stumbled, recovering from her apparation, and then began brushing off the forest floor that had clung to her sleeves and pant legs. Their visit to Xenophilius Lovegood's home hadn't ended quite in the way she had hoped, but she was pleased with her quick thinking to apparate them all out of there before the death eaters could reach them. Still, she couldn't help but wonder about Xenophilius. What would the death eaters do when they arrived at his home only to find that Harry, Ron and Hermione weren't there? Her heart pinched and she refused to think about it any further.

Ron gave a sigh, and then retrieved his wand from his pants pocket. "I'll do the enchantments."

The three dispersed, each going a separate way. Hermione was reaching in her clutch to retrieve the tent when she heard Ron's sudden intake of breath, and turned just in time to see a group of snatchers approaching them.

"'Ello, beautiful."

Turning back around again, Hermione startled and took a step backwards. It was the snatcher's leader, the man she'd seen weeks before and who had smelt her perfume, even through the enchantment. He looked much more at ease this time, his eye brows relaxed and mouth set into a smirk as he ran his fingers through what she recognized as her fuchsia scarf, wrapped around his neck. Hermione swallowed, and stepped backwards again, putting even more space between them. He would recognize her scent, she knew, and the only way to avoid this was making sure there was no way for him to get the chance.

Harry and Ron were suddenly running past her, and she hurried to follow them, her own legs still slightly wobbly and unstable from the apparation. Even still, she managed to gain a strong enough stride to put a fair distance between her and the snatchers. Her chest felt heavy, her throat sore from gasping out exerted breaths, but she dared not stop running. The snatchers had been ordered to run after them, and from the sounds of the quick and heavy footsteps behind her, they were getting close. She could hear their spells hitting tree trunks and the ground, getting closer and closer to her body. A small cry escaped her mouth as one soared past her head, just barely missing her, and exploded against a tree.

Someone fell hard to the ground behind her, and from the strangled cry they gave, Hermione immediately knew that it had been Ron. She forced herself to continue running despite every ounce of her body and heart begging her to turn around and see if he was alright, even if it meant getting caught herself.

The flat land she'd been running on suddenly sloped downwards, giving view to a maze of tall, bare trunk trees that she would have to somehow avoid while also avoiding the approaching snatchers. It was becoming increasingly hard to keep her footing as every so often, the toe of her shoe caught on a tree root sticking out from the ground.

There was a sort of metallic sound, unusual for that particular setting, and then a thick, heavy looking chain flew through the air and wrapped itself around a tree mere inches from where she was. Hermione's breath caught in her throat as she released this was what the snatchers were resorting to. Dodging spells were hard enough, but dodging winding chains that could curl around you like some sort of snake was going to be all the more difficult. Turning her torso, she sent a spell towards the two men catching up, and felt only slight relief at the explosion it made. That would slow them down, but for how long?

At the bottom of the hill, Hermione stopped in her tracks. More snatchers had appeared and were closing in on her slowly, agonizingly slowly, almost as if they wanted to tease her. She desperately searched around her for a clearing, somewhere she could escape to, but she was surrounded, and the realization hit that there was no way out.

There was only one thing she could do to ensure their safety.

Harry was sprinting towards her, and in a moment of last second planning, Hermione sent a spell right into his forehead, one which knocked him off of his feet so he lay flat on his back on the forest floor. She hurried over to where he lay, and took off his glasses, shoving them inside of her pockets. Harry's eyes had glazed over, staring up at the sky past her head. She had no time to wonder what exactly it was he was focusing on. The snatchers had caught up with them. At least her spell had managed to deform his face past recognisability.

"The hallows exist!" Harry was saying as he struggled to sit up. "But he's only after one of them; the last one. He knows where it is. He's going to have it by the end of the night. You-Know-Who is going to have the elder wand."

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off when a pair of hands roughly grabbed her and pulled her to her feet, pressing their front against her back as they held her tightly. She couldn't move. No matter how hard she struggled, wriggling against this snatcher, their hold never wavered and she found her attempts growing more and more useless.

"Don't touch her!" Ron grunted, as he was roughly led down the hill by another snatcher.

Fenrir sent a hard blow into his stomach that quieted Ron.

"Leave him alone!" Hermione fought against the arms that held her, watching as Ron's body crumpled against the ones that held him. "Get off me!"

The leader, the one who wore her scarf, slowed his run to an easy walk, and smirked at her. "Your boyfriend will get much worse than that if he doesn't learn to behave himself." He stopped in front of Fenrir, who was holding a struggling Harry, and grimaced at the sight of his face. "What 'appened to you, ugly?" When both Fenrir and Harry looked at him, the snatcher shook his head at the wolf. "No, not you." He narrowed his eyes at Harry. "What's your name?"

"Dudley." He answered almost immediately. "Vernon Dudley."

"Check it." The snatcher walked past him, and then looked at Hermione. She could see something in his eyes change, the grayish-blue tint growing lighter with what she could only recognize as interest. "And you, my lovely." He stopped, standing right in front of her like he had just weeks before, only now they were looking into each other's eyes, whereas before it was only she that could do this. He tilted his head to the side, and moved even closer, the toes of his shoes touching hers. "What d'they call you?"

Hermione's eyes flickered down to the ground, and she thought quickly, trying to ignore the presence of his man in front of her. "Penelope Clearwater." She looked back up at him again, right into his eyes as surely as she could. "Halfblood."

He was still staring at her, his jaw working and eyes searching hers. And then, he began to lean down towards her, inhaling.

Hermione faltered; he recognized her smell.

**Scabior**

For weeks that smell had stayed with him, a heavy reminder that there was someone, somewhere who had caught his attention and held it. Scabior spent nearly all of his time imagining up the possessor of such a scent, but found it impossible to try and place a face. The mysterious girl remained just that; a mystery. Finding a pink scarf discarded in an empty woods only added fuel to the fire inside of his puzzled mind, and it became his sole mission to find this girl. He wouldn't admit it to the others, of course, but he sometimes lay awake at night, running the silk of the scarf through his fingers and wondering just what he would do when he found her. To be honest, he never actually thought that he would.

Well, until now.

Scabior leant towards the girl, taking in her pale skin and delicate features, the soft curves she bore and the deep, brown eyes that made it impossible to look away. She was so enticing, so intriguing that he found himself unable to take his eyes off her, almost as if afraid he'd missed another aspect of this beautiful girl. He watched the way her throat moved with each nervous swallow she took, and the trembles that shook her body. He wondered why she was making such valiant efforts to increase the distance between them, struggling against one of his own snatchers who held her. He wondered what she was trying to hide. And he wondered why her gaze kept coming back to the scarf wound around his neck. It all made sense when his nose touched the light brown locks at the nape of her neck.

It was her.

The girl with the perfume.

Taking his time, Scabior inhaled, his eyes closing as the familiar scent once again washed over him. So she'd been the one in the forest that night. How had he not seen her? She must have used some sort of a spell, maybe an enchantment, but it obviously hadn't been strong enough to hide her scent.

"There's no Vernon Dudley on 'ere."

Scabior looked over his shoulder at one of his men, the one holding the book of names they'd been carrying around for months, and then he narrowed his eyes at the deformed boy, still clutched in Fenrir's grasp. He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and slowly pulled out his wand as he made his way over to the two. Behind him, "Penelope" became squirming again, and Scabior paused for only a minute, realizing she didn't want him to get any closer to the boy. They were hiding something.

Reaching out with his wand, he lifted the hair that covered the boy's face, and revealed just what he'd been looking for; a scar, thin and white and barely recognizable, but a scar nonetheless. Scabior felt his heart jump. This was Harry Potter. _The _Harry Potter. And he'd been the one to catch him.

"Change of plan." He said, almost breathlessly. "We're not taking this lot to the ministry."

Fenrir, who'd been peering at Harry's face as well, seemed oblivious. "An' why is that?"

"Can't you see the bloody scar?" Scabior forced Harry's head to turn towards the wolf, who narrowed his eyes at his forehead until he finally saw it.

"Well what d'ya know. We caught Harry Potter."

Scabior drew back as his men began pushing the teenagers in the direction they had come. He forced himself not to return to Penelope, although it proved harder than he'd thought, especially when he heard her crying out from the intensity at which she was being held. So she was Penelope Clearwater, halfblood. How come that name sounded so familiar?

"Lemme' see that book." He said, turning to snatch it out of the hands of his companion, who scowled but said nothing in return.

As he walked, Scabior flipped through the pages, running one finger down the list of names and murmuring them to himself. When he finally found what he was looking for, he stopped walking, and stood still, staring at the page. It wasn't the fact that Penelope Clearwater was a muggle born that caused his confusion; it was his own written scrawl in the margin of the page beside the name, which read that Penelope had already been captured and sent to the ministry.

Scabior looked up, and then over his shoulder at the approaching snatcher who held the girl. "You go on." He said, grabbing hold of her upper arm and nodding ahead of them. "I want to talk to her."

The snatcher seemed confused, but released his hold and went to join Fenrir and the others at the front of the pack. As soon as they were alone, Scabior tightened his grip on her arm, and felt her slight muscles contracting, struggling to get herself free. He gave a low chuckle, but then remembered what had made him fall back, and then looked down at her angered, exasperated face.

"You're not Penelope Clearwater."

She jutted out her chin. "Yes, I am."

"No." Scabior brought up his book to show her where he'd made the note beside Penelope's name. "According to this, she was taken to the ministry awhile back." He could see her eyes widening and cheeks flushing. She knew she was caught. "So, you going to tell me your real name or are you goin' to make this difficult for me?"

She pressed her lips together into a tight line and stared straight ahead, refusing to speak.

Scabior sighed, and leant down so that his lips were right at her ear, his nose pressed into the soft locks of her hair. "S'alright. I like the hard way." Pocketing the book, he drew his wand with his free hand and pressed the tip lightly against her side. She flinched. "Now, tell me what your name is."

"Penelope-"

"No 'is not. We just went through that." He pushed the wand harder, his eye brows knitting together as he felt his patience growing thin. "Your real name, please."

It looked like the girl was about to answer when she lost her footing from something on the ground, and stumbled forwards, the hand closest to him flying up to grab onto the lapels of his jacket. As she caught herself, she released him, and refused to look at him, trying to hide her flushed cheeks with her head turned to the side.

Scabior stopped walking. "I'm not goin' to ask again. What's your name, girl?"

Again, she said nothing. This time, Scabior didn't bother trying to be nice, or at the very least, his take on "nice". After checking to make sure the others were far enough ahead not to notice, he pressed his torso up against hers, pushing her backwards until she made contact with the tree behind her. Pinning her with his arms on either side of her body, Scabior leant forward, their faces only a breath apart.

"I may be bad," he said quietly, and paused, watching as she struggled to try and get away. The corners of his mouth twitched, fighting back a smirk. "But Bellatrix is worse. If you don't tell me your name, you'll be hers t'deal with. And she'll get it out of you one way or 'nother."

Something flashed in her eyes, something he was used to seeing up close: fear.

"Hermione." She whispered, and then she paused to swallow before continuing. "Hermione Granger."

The name was immediately familiar. "You're a mudblood."

She looked down.

"Right, well, you're the Malfoy's problem now." He took a step backwards and grabbed hold of her arm again, pulling her alongside him as he hurried to catch up with the others, trying his very best to ignore his heart that had been racing from the scent since he'd touched her. He told himself it was from the excitement of finding Harry Potter. He told himself that was the truth, and there was no other reason. He told himself to stop doubting that.

**A/N: not sure when I'll have the third chapter posted but if all goes well, maybe tomorrow night :) Thanks for reading everyone! I really appreciate the responses this has received!**


	3. Chapter 3

3.

**Hermione**

The Malfoy manor had such a cold, unwelcoming presence to it that as Hermione stood in the middle of a large sitting room, the leader of the snatchers standing directly behind her with his hand gripped tight on her arm, she felt all of the color draining from her face. It was no wonder how Draco had turned out, what with the environment he had grown up in. There was no life to this room, no possibilities, no hope.

She could see Draco standing off to the side of the pale room, surrounded by his mother, Narcissa, and his father Lucius. As soon as she stumbled into the room, receiving a hard shove from the man with her scarf, Draco had looked right at her and then away again. His face had remained expressionless, but Hermione could see something in his eyes, a sort of remorse that dissolved quickly when Lucius had glanced at him.

Now, he remained motionless, watching as Bellatrix Lestrange jerked Harry's head upwards, and held her wand at his neck in a threating manor. "Well?" she asked, and it took Hermione a moment to realize she was speaking directly to Draco. "Is it him?"

"I…can't be sure."

"Draco." His father was suddenly at his side, casting a quick glance at the group of snatchers behind him before lowering his voice. "Look closely, son." He spoke with a harsh, demanding tone, and gripped the back of his son's neck to force him forwards a few steps. "If we are the ones to hand Potter over to the Dark Lord, everything will be forgiven!" At this, Hermione felt the man holding her moving, and she was soon being pushed into the direction of Fenrir, his arm wrapping around her tightly. The other man walked towards Lucius, who continued to speak almost pleadingly now to Draco. "All will be, as it was! Do you understand?"

Draco gave a jerky nod, but before he could speak, the snatcher did.

"Now we won't be forgetting who actually caught him, I hope, Mr. Malfoy." He placed one hand on his hip, underneath his dark jacket, and waited while Lucius's face grew dark.

"You dare to talk to me like that in my own house!"

As Narcissa hurried to calm her husband, Hermione looked to the left of her and saw Ron, who was being held in Fenrir's other arm. She wanted him to look at her as well, just to feel the warmth of a familiar face acknowledging hers rather than the same one of the leader who'd been the only source of communication she'd had since their visit to Luna's father. She was still feeling terribly ashamed of how easily she'd given in to the leader, back when they were in the forest. She shouldn't have told him her name. Maybe it wouldn't have made a difference, maybe it would have, who knows? The point was, she fell victim to the heat of his stare, the way her heart began hammering in her chest when she was trapped up against the tree, and the man who trapped her there.

"Don't be shy, sweetie!" Bellatrix purred, and Hermione looked up to see her gently leading Draco over to where Harry remained on his knees, his good eye watching them anxiously. "Now, if this isn't who we think it is, Draco, and we call him, he'll kill us all." Draco bent down and peered at Harry's face. Bellatrix's lips pulled back into a tight smile. "We need to be absolutely sure!"

Just like a few weeks ago, when she was staring eye to eye with the snatcher behind her enchantment, Hermione began to question her own magic. Had her spell concealed Harry's identity well enough? She still had his glasses in her pocket, so that would take away from a key aspect of his usual appearance, but that snatcher, the one who didn't know Harry at all, had recognized him from a slight line on his forehead. Draco had known Harry for as long as Hermione had, and although not as well, she knew he would be able to tell it was him.

"What's wrong with his face?" Draco asked quietly.

"Yes," Bellatrix looked up, her eyes flying around the room to each face curiously. "What did happen to his face?"

Hermione adverted her gaze to the cold, green tiles of the floor, but she could immediately feel Bellatrix watching her, even as one of the snatchers suggested Harry caught something while in the forest. A moment passed where no one said anything. And then, Bellatrix spoke quietly, her voice like slick velvet and directed at Hermione, no doubt.

"Or…ran into a stinging jinx."

Hermione's breath caught in her throat. _She knows. _

"Was it you, dear?" The sound of Bellatrix's heels across the floor made her wriggle against Fenrir's hold, struggling to free herself before the witch could reach her. Thoughts and images flashed before her eyes, ones that all involved pain and torture; two things Hermione just couldn't very well stand. The footsteps grew closer and soon, with her eyes lowered on the ground, she could see Bellatrix's shoes, right in front of her, and the hem of her dark dress, the torn black crinoline splayed out with the layers of tulle already separating from one another.

But nothing happened.

Bellatrix didn't say a word to her. In fact, the moment her shoes ceased their trek across the floor, they started again, walking past Hermione to somewhere behind her. "What is that?" she asked quietly, almost so quiet that it sounded surprising light coming from such a horrible, foul mouth. "Where'd you get that from?"

Hermione didn't have to look to know what the problem was. She'd known the moment they stepped foot into the Malfoy manor that the Gryffindor sword one of the snatchers held wasn't going to go over very well with the people inside, but she hadn't been expecting it to be Bellatrix to react. This was a worse outcome than any of the ones she'd imagined before, or any of the people she figured might spot it first.

"It was in 'er bag when we searched 'er." The snatcher had a lazy tone. "Reckon 'is mine now."

Before anyone said anything, Bellatrix, still in plain view in front of Hermione, shot a spell towards the snatcher, and the sound of him collapsing to the ground with a gasping choke echoed throughout the empty room. Bellatrix then spun on her heels, bringing her wand across the air in a slicing motion. Fenrir crumpled to the ground, thus releasing both Hermione and Ron, and then received another spell, this one much like the chains the snatchers had used earlier, although now it was a snake, wrapping around his neck.

"Are you mad?" The leader of the snatchers cried out, and then received a snake around his neck as well.

This one remained connected with Bellatrix's wand, acting as a sort of whip, and she drew it back sharply so he was knocked off his feet and spun into the air before landing with a heavy thud on the ground. His hands flew up to his neck, trying desperately to rid the snake from it. Hermione closed her eyes, refusing to watch even such a horrible man gasp and writhe on the floor while the breath was stolen from his throat. A moment later, she heard the sound of him gasping heavily, the snake having been released, and Bellatrix shouting for all of the snatchers to get out of the manor at once.

Hermione had only just opened her eyes when she felt a hand gripping the fabric of her jacket sleeve, pulling her away from the wall where she'd retreated to stand shoulder to shoulder with Ron. "Sissy, put the boys into the cellar!" Bellatrix brought her face close to Hermione's, her wild eyes boring into hers. "I want to have a little conversation with this one; _girl to girl_!"

**Scabior**

Bringing his hands up to the raw ring around his neck, Scabior tried to soothe the aching burn as best he could but found it useless and let his arms fall back against his sides with an aggravated sigh. They outnumbered that damn Bellatrix four to one and just she'd somehow been the one to come out on top. Evidently, he wasn't the only one who wasn't pleased with this.

"Bloody death eaters." Greyback snarled as soon as they were away from Bellatrix and walking down the long corridor that would lead them back to the front doors. "Thinks she can do whatever she damn-well pleases 'cause she's got that mark on 'er arm." He gave a disdainful snort, and looked down at Scabior, shaking his head. "Like to see 'er without that wand of 'ers." The other snatchers that followed them murmured in agreement, although, Scabior noted, none of them made a move to go back and tell this to Bellatrix. Bunch of cowards, they were.

That was when someone screamed.

Scabior stopped dead in his tracks, surprising himself and the collection of men who followed him. That scream; it was so painful, so blood curdling that he felt goose bumps rising on his skin from where the vibrations of it bounced off the bare walls and hit him again and again. It had to be that Granger girl. She was the only young girl in that room, and it was definitely a young girl's scream: curled at the end, shrill… it just sounded so awful.

"The hell you doin'?" Greyback nudged him roughly. "Let's get out of here!"

There was always going to be a point in Scabior's life, he knew, when the question of good and evil would really start to become apparent, so apparent that he'd have to make the distinction between the two. He swallowed, and brought his hand up to push the loose strands of his hair away from his eyes, forcing himself to think quickly. The girl continued to scream, and with each cry of pain he felt something inside of him, something he'd ignored for so long, aching. How many times had he listened to people scream, mudbloods begging for their freedom, and he hadn't blinked? How many times had he watched someone get hurt while he remained solemn and unaffected? Countless times each, he guessed. So how come all it took was this one girl to break the mold?

He looked down at the scarf that lay delicately on his chest, and touched a finger to the material. If he pressed it close enough to his face, he could still smell her, but only just barely. It had long since receded from the fabric since he'd picked it up out of the forest and found that it contained the same scent as the mysterious girl that night. When he looked at the scarf, he could see it changing in front of him. It wasn't the scarf he'd balled up and shoved into his pocket that night, or the one he handed over to Greyback to sniff her out. No, this was the scarf a young girl wrapped around her neck, just like he had, and pressed her cheek to it, just like he had, when the wind got too chilly or when she was hiding a blush. It was a scarf that could have been a Christmas present, or a birthday present, or a "for-no-real-reason" present.

The point was that it wasn't a mudblood's scarf. It was a human girl's scarf.

A human girl being tortured because of him.

Scabior turned on his heels and began a brisk walk back the way he'd just retreated, hearing the others following him in a confused manor. Greyback caught up, and tried to grab his arm, but Scabior shook him off and continued walking, his eyes set on the parted door at the end of the corridor where he could just barely see the back of Bellatrix Lestrange, bent over Granger who lay writhing on the floor. As soon as he was close enough, he reached out his hands and pushed the door open fully, causing it slam against the wall behind it and direct everyone's attention to him.

Bellatrix, still on all fours, looked up at him with narrowed eyes. "You again?"

"Let the girl go." Scabior stood still with his hands clenched at his sides, although his left was raised higher than the right to be able to reach into his jacket pocket for his wand at a moment's notice.

"This is none of your concern, snatcher. You're of no use to us anymore." Bellatrix looked down at Granger who had her head turned on the ground, staring at Scabior through tear clouded eyes. They lolled upwards to look at the bowing witch as her hair fell over the young girl's face, concealing it completely from Scabior's view. "I'm going to ask again! Where did you get this wand? _Where_? Tell me!"

There was a whimper from the girl below her, and then Granger spoke, her voice hoarse from her screams. "We found it! It came from nowhere, I swear!" Bellatrix sneered and grabbed the girl's arm, holding it out from her body on the floor and roughly pushing the sleeve up so a fair bit of skin was bare. Scabior could see that there were already two letters carved into Granger's arm; M and U. Crimson blood trickled from each. Bellatrix poised her wand over the skin, using it like a pencil to carve another letter: D. Hermione writhed beneath her, her feet kicking uselessly into the air as she screamed.

His ears ringing, Scabior turned his head to look at the Malfoys. The three of them remained in a huddled clump against the far wall, all eyes adverted elsewhere to avoid watching what was occurring. None seemed to be hearing the young, pleading voice coming from the middle of the room, or if they did they chose to ignore it. Scabior couldn't, though. Through her screams, he sensed truth, and knew this Hermione girl wasn't lying. So how come Bellatrix couldn't? Eying the witch to make sure she wasn't looking, he reached inside of his jacket and grabbed his wand, sliding about three quarters of it up his sleeve to keep it concealed. He just needed the proper opportunity.

"You filthy mudblood!" Bellatrix cried, pulling her wand away to point it at the girl's face again, pressing the tip into her cheek. "You filthy, lying mudblood! I know you've been inside of my vault at Gringotts! Tell the truth!"

Hermione twisted her neck, trying to get out from under the witch. "We haven't! We didn't steal anything!"

"Liar!" Scabior could see Bellatrix leaning towards her arm again, ready to finish her carving. She wasn't going to get the chance.

Pulling his wand from his sleeve, he pointed it at her, and shouted "Stupify!", watching as she flew backwards and away from Granger. The three Malfoys were all grabbing for their own wands, but Scabior was too quick for them. He sent a spell into the floor at their feet, causing an explosion that shook the entire home and concealed them in a cloud of rubble and dust. He ran towards the girl, lying still on the ground, and wrapped one arm underneath her back, struggling to get her into an upright position. How the hell was he supposed to get her out of the house?

"How dare you!" Bellatrix was getting to her feet, grabbing for her wand off the ground. "How _dare_ you!"

Scabior looked back at the doorway where Fenrir and the other snatchers were watching him, none seeming too eager to hurry over and help him. He knew their obedience to the Dark Lord was stronger than whatever obedience they'd had towards him. The girl in his arms stirred, moaning painfully as she cradled her arm against her chest. Hearing this, Scabior turned his gaze down at her, just barely able to see her face and the tears that stained it.

At the same time Bellatrix had retrieved her wand, Potter and the ginger were making their way up the cellar stairs, wands drawn as well. The red haired one noticed Scabior with Hermione and a shadow crossed his face. He pointed his wand. "Let go of her!"

Scabior had no choice.

He disapparated, taking the girl with him.

**A/N: I don't quite like the ending. It seems rushed, I know, but I'm going out and wanted this finished and posted tonight. Sorry! xP Thanks to all of my readers! I really appreciate your reviews!**

**Edit January 18/12: hi me again ! sorry for how long it is taking to post the next chapter. I've had this dreadful writers block for weeks now and whatever I've tried to write always seems to end up deleted from just how much I hate it. I have a lot written for the next chapter, but i just need to finish it off and decide whether I like it or not before I post... soon though, or at least that is what I am hoping!**


	4. Chapter 4

4.

**Hermione**

It was so strange, to apparate without knowledge of doing so. One minute, Hermione's eyes were focused on the tall, arched ceiling of the Malfoy manor, unable to comprehend the arms that wrapped around her and held her close as she was too distracted from the aching pain in her forearm. And then the next minute, the ceiling had disappeared. Now, she stared up a palette of fog, curling around itself to make recognizing her new setting nearly impossible. She blinked twice, and inhaled, tasting a briny sort of tang in her mouth that meant she was close to water. Or, as she found out a moment later from the slopping sensation on her pant legs, standing in it.

She lifted one foot, and shook it curiously, feeling a puddle of water passing back and forth inside of. She was so preoccupied with figuring out why she was standing in water that she didn't immediately realize that there were arms still wrapped around her, or feel the heavy rise and fall of a warm chest, pressed against her back. When a short gust of hot breath hit the back of her neck, Hermione froze, her foot still poised in the air, and forced her eyes to lower slowly.

Two arms, both concealed by a grungy, beaten looking leather jacket were spread across her chest, hands gripping her upper arms rather tightly. She could see the right one of the person bore an odd ring; it was the head of a stag with a greenish-silver tint. The other hand had only a fingerless glove on. Hermione struggled to recognize the hands, but she knew they didn't belong to either Ron or Harry, and they were the only two people she was hoping that they would.

Swallowing tightly, Hermione began to turn her head, her eyebrows furrowed anxiously as her mind raced, picturing just who might be holding her against them. She first thought of Draco, but that was no ring of his, and it wasn't his father's either. She knew it wasn't Bellatrix or Narcissa either, because these hands were most definitely masculine, judging from the wide fingernails and rough looking skin.

As soon as her eyes were looking directly to the left of her body, nearly turned far enough to see who held her, she felt the man move, his arms loosening so that she could freely move her shoulders if the need arose. She could hear him sighing, sounding annoyed at something, and a moment later, he let go of her entirely, his body leaving hers bare in the fog. Seeing this as her chance, Hermione spun around with her hand flying to her jacket pocket, only to find that there was no wand there, as she had believed there was.

But that wasn't the only shock.

Standing ankle-deep in murky looking water was the leader of the snatchers, his eyes focused on hers as his mouth parted, inhaling and exhaling deeply. She could see the raw red line around his neck that was a reminder of Bellatrix Lestrange, and some bruising in that general area as well. What she didn't see, though, was this man making any movements to grab her, to drag her back to the manor at which she'd somehow escaped. He remained where he was and just stared on her, almost as if he was measuring her current state before trying to say anything.

Hermione's eyes narrowed at him. "Where did you take me?"

The man didn't answer her, rotating in a slow circle with his gaze set on the ground. A moment later, he gave a frustrated sigh and dropped to his knees in the murky water, sinking his hands deep inside of it and searching around. When he straightened up again, he was holding half of a black wand, covered in mud and dark green algae. "Wonderful." He muttered darkly, struggling to his feet and glowering at the broken wand. "It's completely ruined."

There was a moment, only a brief moment, where Hermione watched his face crumple almost in a saddened manor and she wondered if that broken piece of wand that lay in his hand had been his first. Had he gone to Olivander's when he was eleven as well, excited and intoxicated with the idea of Hogwarts, and purchased the wand? Something inside of her pinched, but she chose to ignore it, instead continuing to glare at this man who'd taken her from her friends and placed her in the middle of nowhere.

"I 'ope you're 'appy." He finally raised his eyes to hers. "It must've splinched when I disapparated you out of that place."

If it weren't for the fact he was purposefully trying to make her feel guilty, Hermione probably would have. But she could see the man standing in front of her, cradling his broken wand, was no man to sympathize. He'd been the one to put her in that state in the first place; it was because of him she now bore the scars on her arm. Remembering Bellatrix's carving, Hermione lifted her arm to examine it, cringing slightly at the pain that ignited from her actions. There it was, plain as day: _Mudblood. _Her mouth contorted, fighting back an angered sob. She knew Harry's carvings on his hand from the day in Umbridge's office had remained a painful scar on his skin, and there wasn't a doubt in her mind that her own would scar as well.

"Does it 'urt?"

Her head snapped up at the sound of the man's voice. "What?"

He was looking at her arm, his eyes wandering the foul word it bore with that of concern. "Your arm. Does it 'urt?"

Absently, she touched a hand to her arm, feeling the sharp edges of the lettering and the dried blood that remained there. She found herself unable to answer, surprised by the man's gentle tone. None of this made any sense to her. It had been him who'd passed her over to Bellatrix, but then it had also been him who'd rescued her from the cruel witch. His mood swings were so drastic that she felt dizzy just trying to keep up with them. What was this man's obsession with her?

**Scabior**

In all honesty, he was hoping for a better reaction from the girl. He _had _saved her from Bellatrix. Was that not enough to emit some sort of gratitude from her? Evidently not, since she remained standing in the swamp with a look of absolute loathing. He wondered if she was aware of just what he'd given up in order to get her away from the Malfoy manor. He probably had a price on his head as well, after he'd defied Bellatrix, stunned her, and stolen one of the most undesirable people next to Harry Potter. This Granger girl must not have realized the severity of his actions.

Holding his broken wand in his hand, Scabior fixed his gaze on the young girl, holding her marked arm at the right angle for him to see the word on it. He wondered briefly if this was on purpose, as if she wanted him to be able to see it, just to know that it was his fault it happened in the first place. Well, was she wrong to do so? He knew it was his fault. He knew the image of her on the ground, screaming bloody murder while the word was carved into her arm would stay with him forever. He deserved to be punished.

"Where are we?" She asked again, her voice cold and demanding an answer.

Scabior straightened and stuck what was left of his wand deep down inside of his pants pocket. When he'd disapparated, he'd tried to think of the best place to go, somewhere they could be safe. Although, considering his past and those who were in it, this proved to be difficult. Orrick's home was the best he could come up with.

He turned away from the young girl, peering through the thick fog to try and figure out which direction they should move. "A friend of mine's place." He answered thoughtfully, still turning on spot in a slow circle. Everywhere he looked, the fog remained strong and impossibly opaque. A frustrated growl ripped through his chest, and without checking to see if she would follow, he began trucking through the water, guessing he was going the right way.

"Friend?" he heard her repeat in disbelief, and then there was the sound of splashing from behind him as she hurried to catch up. "You don't exactly have the best of friends, from what I've seen."

He rolled his eyes and continued walking, knowing very well she was thinking of Fenrir and the others. Did she know he resented being around them every second he was forced? Did she know he spent most of his time thinking about getting away from them, those bloody idiots? Of course she didn't. Because to her, he was Scabior: the snatcher. And those were his snatcher "friends".

The moist air of the fog was causing his already damp clothes to stick to his skin, and the further they trudged, the more annoyed he got. Had he not thought of Orrick's place clearly enough? He couldn't even remember a swamp being near his place and yet that was where they had ended up. He didn't lead on that he had no idea which way to go. The last thing he needed was that Granger girl to be on his back about that, too. For all she knew, he knew exactly where he was and which part of the fog he should try and push through to get to the house.

"Where is my wand?" she demanded coldly.

"One of m'boys still has it, I reckon."

There was the sound of an aggravated sigh from beside him. "I suppose that was all part of your plan."

Now he stopped walking, and turned to give her an incredulous look. "Plan? What're you talking about, girlie?"

She stopped as well and stood before him in a defiant, sturdy pose, her eyes narrowed harshly and zeroed in on his. "You know exactly what I'm talking about. I don't know what it is, but you have a reason for taking me from the Malfoy Manor and leaving me defenseless. So what is it? What do you want with me?"

Scabior looked down at her. "You think breaking m'wand was part of that plan too?"

She said nothing, but he noticed the way her chin remained jutted out like it had when she was trying to convince him she was Penelope Clearwater. No matter what was thrown at this girl, she still somehow managed to remain strong and that was something that didn't go easily unnoticed, especially not by Scabior. He saw that look in her eyes. It may not be as visible to others as it was to him, but he knew what it was every time he saw it; it aged her, matured her, made her look like she'd been to hell and back and knew this wasn't the worst thing that could happen to her. Being lost with a snatcher in the middle of a thickly fogged swamp without a wand might not have pleased her, but she wasn't phased by it, either.

"I 'ave my reasons just like e'rebody else in the world." Scabior turned away from her and continued walking. "You should stop asking, 'less you want to be back in tha' house with Bellatrix again."

"You don't have a wand to send me there."

She had a point, but he refused to admit it.

Hermione fell back into pace beside him easily, and when he looked down at her again, he saw that her gaze had shifted to her arm, and the word that was a harsh reminder of that incident. She suddenly looked up and caught him watching her. The sleeve of her shirt was tugged down immediately, covering Bellatrix's work. "I hope you know I don't trust you."

"I didn' think you would." Scabior stared straight ahead. What reason had he given her to trust him, anyway? He'd chased her, snatched her, gave her over to Bellatrix who had, in turn, branded a mark on her arm that would only fade over time; not disappear. And then, without warning, he'd picked her up and taken her away from it all. He was confused about it himself and didn't expect that she would understand his actions either. So why trust him?

The fog finally thinned enough for some light to spill through, and the air had grown colder rather than the hot, moist mess of gas it had been back further into the swamp. Scabior squinted hard, and was just able to make out the shape of a small, wooden cabin that rested on the bank of the swamp. Tall, dripping trees with black trunks loomed over the cabin with unusual arches in their stature. If Scabior had been living there rather than Orrick, he'd have already cleared the area of the trees, the swamp, the annoyingly unhelpful fog, and especially the god-awful smell of rot and algae that hung thick in the air.

Once they were close enough to the cabin, Scabior shifted and headed towards the slimy, mud covered bank that would take them up the grass to the house where he so wanted to be. His boots were soaked, his clothes in the same state and chaffing uncomfortably against his skin. His nostrils filled with the decaying stench and the only thing he could taste was the stagnant air. This wasn't the worse he'd ever experienced, but there _were _other places he would have rather been.

Scabior braced his hands on the slimy bank, and felt his fingers pushing through the rot and mud, sinking down unpleasantly. His mouth twisted into a grimace, but he spread his legs anyway, and struggled to pull himself up. The mud held no traction for his boots as he kicked, trying to climb as best as he could, and his hands weren't gripping anything rather strong. A moment passed where his attempts made no progress, and then he lost whatever hold he had, and fell back into the swamp. If his clothes were soaked before, now they were absolutely drenched.

Hermione took one look at him, sitting on the slime-covered bottom of the water, and began to smirk. "You didn't honestly think that would work, did you?"

"Watch it,, girlie." His anger flushed his cheeks, and he struggled to regain his footing without slipping and falling again. As soon as he was standing properly, he looked down at his clothes, clinging against his skin and leaving nothing left to the imagination. He turned away from the girl and pulled at the fabric of his pants, hearing the suction sound of it refusing to let go. He pulled harder and eventually it released to hang loose against his legs.

When he turned back around again, the girl was nowhere in sight. Where she'd stood before only held the memory of her in greenish-brown ripples, spreading across the top of the water and disappearing. Soon, there was nothing. Scabior whipped around in a circle, unable to hide the anxious expression that latched onto his face. Where was she?

On his third rotation, Scabior finally spotted her, standing up on top of the bank with her arms crossed over her chest, watching him with an amused expression. His jaw fell slack. "'Ow…?" she couldn't possibly have climbed up the bank… could she?

"The rocks." She nodded smugly to the right of him, where a pile of algae covered stones had piled up against the bank of the swamp. He could see the imprints of her boots in the slime. So she _had _climbed. She just hadn't tried to climb mud. Smart girl.

It took him a minute or two longer than it had taken her to get up, but only because his clothes were far more slippery than hers were, and refused to co-operate with him every time he tried to brace his knee on the top of the bank to pull himself up. In the end, he had to leap from the top rock, and just barely managed to keep his hold on the grass, his fingers clenched into the thick blades to keep himself from sliding back down into the murky swamp.

As he stood, he gave an aggravated huff, the stray strands of his damp hair that hung in his face pushed to the side from the sudden gust of breath. He looked at the girl, and was surprised to find her already looking at him as well. They held each other's gaze for a moment, neither saying anything. While Scabior stared at her out of a sort of fascination, her eyes were cold and hard, guarded, still obviously running scenarios and motives through her head; anything to make his sudden change of heart make even just a little bit of sense.

Scabior looked away, and turned his attention to Orrick's cabin, standing a few feet away from them. The half-moon windows had grimy glass in the panes, which obscured whatever was inside. How long had it been since he'd been there, since he'd even _talked _to Orrick? How come this was the first place he thought of? The chances of them even being granted entry inside were slim, if anything at all. And it's not like he had a wand to apparate them anywhere else. He was above praying, but everything inside of him was hopingOrrick would have a sudden change of heart, as well.

"Aren't you going to knock?" Hermione asked drily form behind him, and Scabior realized that he'd been standing motionless in front of the door for too long.

Clearing his throat, he stepped closer and reached out, rapping his knuckles against the dark wood. There was the sound of plates from the other side being stacked onto one another, and then a chair scooting across the floor. A moment passed, and then the door was being thrown open. Scabior stumbled backwards a few steps from the surprise of it.

Orrick stood in the doorway, blinking for a moment to try and accustom himself to his new visitor. It took him a minute, but the look of recognition passed over his face, and his eyes narrowed slightly. Scabior knew he was wondering just what he was doing at his door, considering the years of silence and absence between them.

"Scabior." His tone was dry, emotionless, and his face remained the same way. His eyes moved from him, to Hermione, standing hesitantly a few feet behind him. Orrick stared at her for a moment, and then he sighed. "What sort of trouble 'ave you gotten yourself into now?"

Scabior almost smiled, but it fell short on his lips. "Orrick, meet 'Ermione Granger. 'Ermione, meet Orrick." He paused briefly, wondering if the next part on his tongue was entirely necessary. Well, it wasn't entirely _unnecessary. _He said it anyway. "My brother."

**A/N: so sorry for how this update took. I had some major writers block issues over Christmas break, but here's hoping I've managed to slip out of it. Anyway, enjoy chapter four. No idea when chapter 5 will be up but I'm working on it right now! =) thanks for reading everyone!**


	5. Chapter 5

5.

**Hermione**

Hermione learned two things in those first few moments that Orrick man was standing before them. The first thing was that the snatcher who'd taken her from the woods, handed her over to Bellatrix, only to take her away yet again, was Scabior. The name sounded unusual, and she wondered if it was possibly a nickname, or maybe a surname that he went by, rather than his given.

The second thing she learned was that these two men were brothers.

She tried to find a resemblance between them, some sort of characteristics that they might have shared, but there was nothing. The two men standing before her were polar opposites. While Scabior was medium height with a slim build and long, knotted dark hair, his brother was probably close to six feet tall and stocky with ashy-blond hair that fell over his eyes. It was clear to her that he was the oldest. His eyes tipped Hermione off; whilst Scabior's were mysterious, dark and admittedly rather enticing, Orrick's held a certain knowledge to them that could have only come from years of experience. His eyes had seen the world, and knew of the evil in it. Was that why he chose to live in a cabin in the middle of a swamp with, as Hermione concluded after surveying the area, no one else around?

"'Ello, Miss Granger." Orrick greeted her briefly, but not unkindly, as he'd managed to soften his harden expression before it fell cold again when he looked to his brother. "I suppose you've gotten yourself into trouble and are 'ere for me t'get you out of it?"

Scabior gave him a bitter look. "You 'ave no faith in me, d'you?"

"What reason have you given me to 'ave any?"

Hermione remained a fair distance from the two, watching as they exchanged dark, hated looks between one another. If they were brothers, why the tension? She thought of Ron and how well he got along with his siblings. The Weasley family was probably the most closely-knitted one she knew. And being an only child herself, she'd bought into the idea what all families must be the same. Evidently, that wasn't the case.

Orrick's eyes darted away from his brother's face at the sound of thunder rumbling above them. He looked up at the sky, and Hermione did the same, noticing the dark clouds that loomed, having covered the sunlight without any of them noticing.

"You two best come in 'ere." He turned and retreated slowly inside, leaving the doorway open for Hermione and Scabior.

She hesitated, glancing over her shoulder at rippling swamp and the thick fog that curled around it, concealing the rest of the water and whatever else was out there from her view. She didn't have a wand. If anything were to happen, she was utterly defenseless, and she didn't like that one bit. Besides, she still didn't trust Scabior at all; him or his motives, which were still very unclear.

It had been crazy of her to even follow him out of the swamp when every single one of her instincts was telling her to stay as far away from him as possible. How come she hadn't listened? Was it because somewhere inside of her, she wondered if he maybe wasn't as bad as he lead on to be? He had, in fact, saved her from Bellatrix, and although she didn't know why, Hermione wasn't exactly complaining. She knew, too, that now they were both on the run. Everyone would still be looking for her, but there was no doubt a price on his head now as well.

"Are you coming or not?" Scabior demanded rather harshly from the doorway, where he had disappeared into before noticing she wasn't following.

Hermione looked up at his face, and her eyes scrutinized him. "Will you give me a minute?"

Another roll of thunder drummed out through the sky. "Might not 'ave a minute. You'll get sick, y'know."

Of course, he was right. The air had already picked up into a sharp chill against her skin, and there was also the fact that her clothes were damp from the swamp water. She'd be frozen in mere hours if the rain began to fall heavy enough. Plus, Hermione added in her head, my arm should be looked at as well. Even though she didn't trust Scabior, there was something about Orrick that made her feel better towards him. Perhaps he would look at her arm, and give her something to stop an infection, or at least something to make it numb for a while.

Raising her head, Hermione walked past Scabior and into the small cabin, nearly tripped on the corner of a thick rug by the door that had been lifted. She managed to catch herself, cheeks aflame, and continued to walk, hearing Scabior's low chuckle from behind her.

The cabin wasn't very large at all. She'd figured there was some sort of enchantment on it, like the tent she, Harry and Ron had been using for the past couple of months that made the inside bigger than the outside. But, this looked to be the exact same size from both views. It was all one level, (there no staircases visible), and nearly everything was laid out before her in one long stretch of room. A clutter of wooden cabinets were set up against the far wall with a small, beaten up looking fridge next to them, humming loudly. There was a gas stove, as well as a basin sink with rusted taps. A table with four chairs surrounding it sat in the middle of the room, newspapers and books cluttered on the top. To the left of the doorway was a large couch with tears in the fabric and some duct tape holding seams together in other parts.

Hermione could see three doorways just off the kitchen, and she wasn't sure just how large those rooms would be either, considering the size of this one and the size of the cabin as a whole. It felt comfortable, though, especially when she noticed a fire licking and spitting quietly across from the couch, a pile of fresh logs sitting at the ready beside it. There were no overhead lights, but candles scattered across the room, sitting on shelves and on the tables and counter that gave off a soft glow. Hermione found herself warming up instantly after being inside only momentarily.

Orrick was standing in the kitchen-part, his back to her and Scabior as he worked with something on top of the stove. A moment later, Hermione heard the whistle of a tea kettle, and then Orrick was walking back towards them while it warmed up, his face remaining the emotionless slate it had been before. "So," he said evenly, looking to Scabior, who was closing the door tightly behind them. "You going t'tell me wha' 'appened or am I going to 'ave to guess?"

Scabior sighed. "I'm in a bit of trouble-"

"'Course you are."

His eyes flashed annoyance at his brother's interruption, but he continued anyway. "An' my wand is broken."

"Pity." Orrick moved to sit down on the couch, and turned his body slightly so he was still facing them both. "Looks like your luck's run out, eh?"

Hermione felt awkward standing between the two feuding men as if she were standing between two sides of a battlefield. She felt the need to shuffle over at least a few feet so that Orrick could face his brother properly, but she didn't want to draw attention to herself. Thankfully, Scabior pulled from the argument rather quickly.

"D'you have a loo here?"

Orrick's lips twitched. "'Course I do. Did you think I went in the swamp? First door from the right."

Although Hermione found this to be funny, Scabior didn't. He huffed and stalked across the room, his boots squishing with each step. As soon as the door to the lavatory closed behind him, Orrick looked up at her, and for the first time since she'd arrived, he actually smiled. "You're the muggle-born who's been travellin' with 'Arry Potter, aren't you?"

Hermione was surprised at his choice of words. She'd been expecting him to call her a "mudblood", although she had no problem with that he'd used instead. It was just unexpected. "Yes." she answered in a soft, hesitant voice. There was no point in lying now, was there?

Orrick's smile seemed to widen, and honestly, it lit up his face nicely. He was a pleasant looking man when he wasn't scowling. "I've 'eard so much about you."

"In the papers?" Hermione guessed.

He shook his head. "I don't read wizarding papers."

This came as a surprise to Hermione. She looked to his table where she'd thought she'd spotted a few issues of the Daily Prophet, but now she could see that none of the pictures were moving. It was a muggle paper, the sort her own parents would read with their coffee in the mornings. Returning her gaze to Orrick's face, she couldn't hep but look confused. "If not from the papers, how have you heard of me?"

"Friends, mostly." He titled his head to the side, examining her with a thoughtful gaze. "You look much older than they describe."

Hermione didn't know how to respond to this, so she just smiled gratefully and looked around again. This time, she took in more than just the furniture. She noticed the books on the shelves were those she would see back at her home; some were collections of poetry, others biographies, but most were stories. She didn't recognize all of the authors, but the ones that she did were muggles and she could bet the rest of them were probably, as well.

Frowning to herself, she turned her head to the sink where she saw pot scrubbers, dish soap, peelers… Whenever Mrs. Weasley was in her kitchen, her only tool was her wand. If she didn't know any better, this Orrick might be leading a completely magic less life. She looked to him curiously.

"If you don't mind me asking, why do you have so many muggle inventions and books in your home?"

Orrick shrugged. "Well, I am a muggle. Or, I guess the proper term is a 'squib', but I find tha' as derogatory as 'mudblood'."

Of course, Hermione had heard of the term before. A squib was a non-magical person born from a muggle parent and a magic parent. She'd heard the term being thrown around often at school, although she didn't know of any students who were wizard-born muggles. Filch was, she knew, but aside from that, she knew no others. Wizard-born muggles were very, very rare. They were also looked down upon by most wizards and witches, particularly purebloods. How sad.

"That explains a lot." Hermione said after a moment of silence, and gave him a light smile.

"Glad that's cleared up. Now," Orrick's smile faded slightly into a perplexed frown. "I'm just wonderin' as to 'ow you and my brother crossed paths."

Hermione looked over her shoulder at the bathroom, wondering how much she should tell this man. She didn't exactly want to danger him with knowledge, just in case anyone were to find them and he was questioned so he could tell them honestly that he knew nothing. When she looked at him again, Orrick was waiting patiently, his eyes gentle and set on hers. She couldn't help but trust this man entirely.

"It's kind of a long story." She admitted.

His lips pulled back into that pleasant smile again. "I'm sure we've got time."

**Scabior**

The water from the basin was cold and ran in a thin, weak stream out of the tap. Scabior rubbed at his dirt caked hands and nails for only a moment before giving up and turning off the water completely, half surprised that the knob didn't off when he turned it. Everything about this cabin was depressing and in need of replacing, but of course Orrick refused to change a thing. Even Scabior, -who'd hadn't slept properly in nearly six months, spent most of his days chasing after those who refused to cooperate, and who hadn't had a roof over his head for so long- felt pity for his brother.

He patted his hands dry against his jacket, and felt something there, something tucked in one of the inner pockets. Curiously, he stuck his hand inside of it, and felt the shape of something thin and hard. It must have been what was left of his wand. Well, time to survey the damage. Bringing it out, Scabior brought it up to his face, but his movements were made slow by the confusion he felt. This was too heavy, too full to be his broken wand. It was a full wand.

About 10 and a quarter inches, he guessed, staring at it through narrowed eyes. It had a sort of vine-design to it, and after closer examination, he finally began to recognize this wand. Had it really been him who'd snatched it from the girl? Because this was, undoubtedly, Granger's wand.

Now he had a dilemma.

He surely wasn't about to go and hand it back over to the girl, because she would use it against him immediately and then leave. "She'd get caught again." He whispered aloud to himself. "She'd get caught an' they might not be so kind t'her this time 'round." Bellatrix would skip the torture, if Hermione was lucky. If not, she could expect worse, much worse than what she received last time. So giving it back to her was out of the question, but what was he supposed to do with it?

He'd never used someone else's wand. It felt unnatural, gripped in his hand, and he knew it wouldn't cast spells properly if he ever tried one out. It was practically useless to him, but only practically. He thought hard and quick: Hermione didn't have a wand (on her person, at least), his was broken and Orrick had never owned a wand before in his life. If anything were the happen that they were attacked, they were all defenseless and would all die. That was something Scabior definitely did not want.

But, if he kept the wand, he could protect everyone.

Wouldn't Granger appreciate that if she knew?

There was no point trying to figure out that girls emotions. She was as easy to decode as Orrick. If he wanted to keep everyone safe, this wand was his best bet. Slowly, Scabior slid it back into his inner jacket pocket, and patted it absently, feeling the shape of it against his palm through the fabric. This was for the good of everyone else, he assured himself. He wasn't keeping it because he was afraid of Hermione leaving…was he?

Scabior gave a loud groan and pressed his forehead against the cold, grimy mirror about the basin. His eyes shut and he let himself breathe, let himself think, whatever good that was going to do him. He could try and think about his emotions all he wanted; they wouldn't make sense. All he knew was that there was a reason her perfume stayed with him for so long, why her scarf remained around his neck despite the fact that he had no need for it anymore, why he'd saved her from Bellatrix and why he was keeping her from leaving his side, even now that he was just as dangerous to her with the new price on his head as the rest of the world was to her. There was a reason for all of that, but he'd be damned if he knew.

As he emerged from the lavatory, Scabior was surprised to see Orrick and Hermione sharing the couch together, their knees touching and each holding a mug of tea, talking quietly. Something inside of him gave a sharp pull, and he felt slightly angry towards his brother. He hadn't brought Hermione there for her be entertained by him. They were there until Scabior could figure out a better place to go, if there was one. That didn't give Orrick any permission to move in on the young girl.

"Oy." Both heads turned at Scabior's exclaim. "What're you two doin'?"

Orrick's face which had been holding a smile moments before was back to it's usual, defensive scowl. "Talkin'."

"'Bout what?" Scabior's eyes flickered to Hermione, but she was avoiding his gaze entirely.

"Scabior, it was nothing." His brother was on his feet and walking towards him, defending Hermione with a cold tone. "Don' worry 'bout it."

A million thoughts and scenarios were running through the snatchers head of what they'd possibly been talking about, but he dare not voice any and see if he was right. All of the possibilities were ones he didn't care much for, and he wasn't jumping at the chance to have any of them be correct.

Orrick was still walking around the room, fixing things that needn't be fixed and shuffling papers that needn't be touched. Scabior knew his brother, and could tell that he was busying himself to avoid admitting anything. This just added fire to the anger in Scabior's chest, the flames licking at his heart and spreading heartily around his body. He wished he'd would have thought of a better place to take Granger. Why the hell had Orrick's been the first name to pop into his head at Malfoy Manor? Why?

"It's getting late." Orrick murmured now, looking at a clock that was on one of the walls, ticking quietly. "I'm guessin' you two are stayin' the night?"

Everyone in the room could hear the heavy beating of rain on the roof of the cabin, telling them that any means of travel was out of the question. Scabior sighed, but nodded, touching a hand to his hair. It felt stringy and dirty from the remnants of the swamp. Disgusting, he lowered his hand again. "If that'd be alrigh', thanks."

Orrick nodded curtly, all business. "'Ermione, you can have the guest bedroom. Scabior, couch."

Scabior's lips turned down. "The couch?"

"It's tha' or the floor." Orrick shrugged. "Your choice."

Scabior argued no further, although he still wasn't pleased with the sleeping arrangements. Weren't hosts supposed to treat their guests properly? Why couldn't Scabior have Orrick's bed and he could sleep on the bloody couch?

"If you don't mind," Hermione stood slowly, speaking only to Orrick, Scabior noticed. "I think I'll be going to bed now. Thank you for the tea." She handed him her empty mug, and smiled briefly before walking to the door of the guest bedroom. The door had only just closed behind her with Orrick turned on his brother with a dark look, his eyes accusing.

"I don' know what you're playin' at, Scabior, but whatever it is, stop it."

Scabior's eye brows lifted. "'Scuse me?"

"I'm not stupid." Orrick sighed and looked over at the door Hermione had just disappeared through before lowering his voice. "You need to pick a side. First you're snatching 'er and then you're saving 'er. I know you, Scabior, and this isn' like you."

"So y'think I shouldn'a saved 'er?"

Orrick narrowed his eyes. "You know that's not what I'm sayin'. I just don' know why."

"You don' have to. It's none of your business."

"It is if you're staying in m'home."

There was a long stretch of silence between them, during which Orrick continued to stare him down with that accusing gaze while Scabior avoided it entirely, his eyes lowered on the ground and hands placed on his hips as he fought hard to regain control of his thoughts. He wouldn't admit it, but he knew Orrick was right. This wasn't like him, and if he knew why that was, he would have told his brother. The fact of the matter, though, was that he didn't. He had no idea and wasn't about to try to explain something he couldn't even understand himself. What he needed at that moment was sleep.

"D'you have any blankets?" Scabior asked, jabbing his thumb towards the couch. "I'm goin' to turn in."

Orrick sighed, but nodded anyway. "I'll bring you back some. First, I'm going to get tha' girl some dry clothes. Would y'like some, too?"

Something in the bitterness of his tone told Scabior that the offer was him just trying to be nice. Scabior narrowed his eyes, not wanting any of his brother's pity. "I'm good." He answered bitterly, to which Orrick just shrugged as if saying, 'suit yourself' and then walked away. Scabior watched him first go into his own bedroom for a few minutes, and then emerge holding a dark brown blanket in one hand, and one of his tee-shirts in the other.

At first, Scabior figured the shrit was for him; that Orrick had decided to get him one despite his protests. But as he readied himself to deny it, he was hit in the face with the brown blanket, and nothing else. Angrily, he threw the blanket onto the couch and looked up just in time to see Orrick coming out of Hermione's room, empty handed, and then disappear back into his own room, evidently done talking to him for the night.

Scabior waited a few minutes before looking down at the couch, his nose wrinkling at the sight of it. That was where he was expected to sleep? Granger probably had some comfortable bed with thick sheets and three or four pillows. She was probably asleep right now, wearing nothing but Orrick's tee-shirt but wasn't cold because of all of the damn blankets-

Something inside of him began to turn warm at the thought of her wrapped up in sheets. Maybe her legs were sticking out the sides, bare up to the bottom of her thigh where he guessed Orrick's shirt probably stopped.

Scabior swallowed tightly, and kicked off his boots, focusing on that rather than the girl sleeping half naked in the other room. He laid himself out on the couch, his feet hanging over the arm, and folded the blanket over top of him. Sleep didn't come immediately though, as he'd guessed it wouldn't. For a while he lay awake, eyes focused on the glow of a slowly melting candle across the room from him, and listening to the rain outside, the odd crack of thunder as well. He pretended the sounds were drowning out the slow, steady breathes he could hear, coming from the girl's room. He pretended his hands were clenched around the blanket, stopping him from getting up. He pretended he wasn't fighting the monster inside of him with everything he had.

**A/N: ****I am SO thankful for the snowday I had today =) No school, lots of time for writing! Thanks for reading, everyone!**


	6. Chapter 6

6.

**Hermione**

She woke up in a tangle of sheets, most damp from the sweat of her limbs whilst others were just uncomfortably warm against her body. Sitting up, Hermione kicked them off of her and let the cool morning air hit her skin, bare from where the shirt didn't reach. For a moment, she remained like that, taking in the room that she couldn't see much of the previous night. It was small, as she had anticipated, but Orrick had done well to make it feel as comfortable as the rest of his cabin.

At the foot of her single bed was an old looking chest, which Orrick had specifically pointed out to her the night before as to tell her there were extra blankets hidden inside, there if the need arose. There was a wardrobe across the room as well, the doors closed to hide whatever had been hung inside. On top of that, there was a stack of clothes, something Hermione immediately guessed were laid there at some point during the night for her to wear that day.

Just like the rest of the cabin, the floors were a warm coloured hardwood, the walls resembling the same, deep brown shade as the others. There was one window in that room, set right on the wall the bed was pushed up against so if Hermione leaned forward even just a little, she would be able to see out of the halfmoon glass. Judging from the lack of light pouring in, though, and the water that splashed against it, she knew there was nothing worth seeing. It was a gray sky littered with rain.

Stretching out her legs, Hermione took a moment to shake the last of sleep from her body, and waited until her limbs began to pinch before relaxing, and letting out a long breath. She appreciated everything Orrick had done for her, but she knew she couldn't stay there, not with Scabior. But where else was she supposed to go? She had no idea how to get out of that place without getting lost in the swamp, and even if she did, she guessed Scabior would come after her and just drag her back again for whatever reason he had.

That was another thing.

What _were _his reasons?

Now that she was able to think clearly, having slept, Hermione really began to ponder this. The best she could come up with was pride. She recalled at the Malfoy Manor, when Lucius had told Draco of how much of an honour it would be if they were the ones to hand the three teenagers over to the Dark Lord. It was then that Scabior had grown frustrated, wasn't it? Yes, Hermione confirmed, thinking back on that day. He'd demanded Lucius not forget the actual people who'd snatched them. So maybe Scabior kidnapped her to hand her over to the Dark Lord himself.

But that was silly. It was Harry he wanted, not her.

Hermione gave a frustrated groan, and fell back against the pillows, her head sinking immediately. The night before, she'd actually considered the possibility that Scabior had kidnapped her for no reason other than to get her away from Bellatrix's torturing. The thought had crossed her mind while she changed, but she almost immediately tossed that one too. It was insane as well, wasn't it? Why should that man care even the slightest if she was harmed? Wasn't that what he really wanted? He couldn't have been assuming she'd be alright while he was chasing her through the woods.

She felt an oncoming head ache, and decided to stop confusing herself, at least for the time being. Besides, her stomach kept giving off low growls, and churning uncomfortably. She couldn't remember the last time she had eaten. She'd had that god-awful tea at Mr. Lovegood's home, but anything after that? No. Her stomach had remained an empty pit while she was chased, while she was tortured, and while she trucked through a thick swamp. It's a wonder she hadn't noticed the ache before.

Hermione slid off the bed, her bare feet stepping down onto the cold hardwood floors. The clothes Orrick had left for her were surprisingly female. She hadn't been expecting that at all, considering the lack of girls in the cabin. Perhaps he had a sister live there at one point, and she'd left her clothes. Or, perhaps he had female visitors who left clothes. Whatever the reason, Hermione was grateful, as they were only a size or two bigger than her normal wardrobe. She pulled on the plaid button up top, and then the track pants, tying the string tight on her waist to keep them from being too loose. Afterwards, she pulled her hair back, and headed out to the main room to see if she could find something to eat.

The entire cabin was quiet. Orrick's bedroom door was still shut, and she could hear him snoring lightly inside. For a moment, Hermione debated going back to her room and waiting for him to get up, since it would be sort of rude of her to go searching through his cabinets without his consent. But then her stomach rumbled again, and the ache made itself known, and she knew she needed to eat now.

Crossing the room, she was careful to keep her steps light, balancing most of her weight on the toes of her feet. The cabin had already settled for the previous night, and sudden movements were making the floor creak rather loudly. Hermione cringed each time it did, but continued walking, nearing the kitchen area. She was so close, too, when she heard the loud snore and stopped head in her tracks. That hadn't come from Orrick's bedroom. It had come from right behind her. _Right _behind her.

Slowly, she turned on her heels and then startled slightly. The couch that she hadn't even noticed she was so close to was not empty. On it lay a sleeping Scabior, a single blanket draped over him that didn't even reach past his knees. His boots lay on the floor a few steps behind her, and she thanked God she didn't trip over them previously. But now she had to be extra careful not to wake Scabior, either. In all honesty, she didn't feel much like it just being the two of them, having to engage in an awkward conversation with him.

The day before in the swamp was all a blur. She could remember talking at him, rather than _to _him, and she was sure he'd done the same. Had she said anything to him yet without a sharp, cold edge to her tone? It's not like she was supposed to, considering the circumstances. But, cold discussion or not, she just didn't feel like having one with that man.

She turned, ready to continue towards the kitchen when she noticed her scarf still wrapped around Scabior's neck. Up close, she could see how dirty it was, streaked with mud ad some slime; undoubtedly from his fall in the swamp the previous day. She didn't have any real emotional attachment to the scarf, but it angered her to see him wearing it, as if he had permission to do so. What a self-entitled man.

There wasn't any sort of plan developing in her mind to steal the scarf away, because she certainly didn't feel like risking Scabior waking up. But the more she stared, watching as the fabric rose and fell with the steady breaths coming from his chest, she felt like she had to get it back _somehow_. Perhaps later in the day he would set it down somewhere. It needed a good wash, she noted, and she began making plans to ask Orrick for some warm water and dish soap; sensitive enough not to ruin the fabric.

"Good mornin' t'you too, beau'iful."

Hermione jumped, staring down at Scabior's still face, his eyes closed. Had he just…?

At once, his eyes flew open, and he stared right up at her with a smirk spreading across his face.

Cheeks flushed, she stumbled backwards, and tripped on his discarded boots, only just managing to catch herself on the back of the couch before she could fall. Scabior began to sit up, making deep sounds in the back of his throat as he stretched out his arms and legs, pointing his toes. The whole time, he continued to stare at Hermione, wearing the same smirk that made him look like he'd caught her doing something wrong. It's not like she'd been staring. She'd been silently plotting. There's a difference.

"Mind if I take the bed tonight?" Scabior was asking, turning so he could plant both feet on the ground and run a hand through his grungy looking hair. "The couch isn' exactly the right size."

Hearing this, Hermione jutted her chin out and crossed her arms over her chest. "I don't plan on staying here another night. I'm leaving today."

Scabior gave a low chuckle. "Are you, now?" he reached out to grab for his boots. Hermione sidestepped out of the way, her eye brows knitted together angrily.

"Yes, actually, I am."

"An' how exactly d'you plan on doing tha'?"

She hadn't gotten that far yet, but she wasn't going to admit it. "None of your concern, is it?"

"S'pose not." Scabior pulled on his boots with his head bowed, and she figured their conversation was over until he finished tying them up, and then looked at her again. "I just don' know how you plan on getting' out of here without a wand, or knowing where you're goin', is all." She could see something in his face, a certain glint in his eye that meant he was highly amused with the situation. God, Hermione couldn't stand this man. Everything about him reeked of arrogance.

"Orrick will help me." She said, nodding her head in the direction of his bedroom. "He must go into town at some point. He'll know the way."

Scabior shrugged his shoulders, allowing this. "'Course he goes into town. Wha' makes you think he'll take you?"

"Unlike you, I'm actually on good terms with your brother."

There was a bark of laughter from Scabior, and then he rested his arms on his knees, smirking up at her. "Don' believe everythin' you see, girlie. If I tell him not to show you the way out, well," he shrugged again, letting her fill in the blanks. It wasn't true though, she knew it wasn't. Orrick was nothing like his scum brother. If she asked to be led out, he would help her, no problem.

She continued to stare at Scabior, challenging his gaze, until she felt something eating at her so loudly that she couldn't help but blurt out, "Why are you so keen on keeping me here?"

It almost looked like her outburst had caught Scabior by surprise. Slowly, his smile faded from his face and his mouth fell into a hard line. She didn't think he was going to bother to try and answer her, because as the minutes past, silence ensued, and their staring contest did as well. Was he even going to try and give her a reason or leave her in the dark, not that that would be much of a change from where she was at now. To her surprise though, Scabior licked his lips, and cleared his throat.

"You get caught, I get caught. It's as easy as tha'."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "What makes you think I'd get caught?"

"_I_ caught you, didn't I?"

"You had my scarf."

Scabior just smiled. "Greyback could sniff you out from anythin'."

"So, you're keeping me here to make sure you don't get killed for disobedience?"

"I'm keepin' you here," he stood up, standing a good foot taller than Hermione and taking this to his advantage as he stared down at her, "because I wan' to. An' tha's all you need to know."

**Scabior**

Not everything he had said was true. Obviously, Orrick would take her to town as soon as she asked, as soon as the rain let up, even. Scabior had no pull over his brother and his actions, so if he wanted to take Hermione, he could do just that. He continued to lie though, spitting out words as they came to him and saying them as confidently as he could. Lying came easy to him, but Hermione was no fool, and he couldn't help but wonder just how much of what he was saying she was seeing through.

Orrick's bedroom door opened and he emerged, running a hand through his thick hair tiredly as his other finished pulling down the hem of the tee-shirt he'd probably just thrown on. He stopped and stared at Scabior and Hermione, at the heat on both of their faces with raised eye brows. "Everythin' alright 'ere?" he asked, looking just at his brother.

"Brillian'." Scabior muttered darkly,

Hermione just looked away, her eyes hard and focused on the ground of the cabin.

Orrick continued to stare at them suspiciously until Granger asked if she could have something for breakfast. Then, he flew off into his "host" mode, making her something that smelled like ham and eggs in the kitchen. While he worked, Orrick shot Scabior knowing stares until he'd finished, and then he was chatting up Hermione as if his brother had left. The two sat at the table together, eating like old chums who'd just reunited and needed time to catch up with one another.

"I'm 'ungry too." Scabior announced, his tone dripping with annoyance.

Orrick looked up and over at him. "Then make yourself somethin'."

"Thought I was the guest?"

"You're family."

"Ah." Scabior rolled his eyes, pretending all had been cleared up. "Guess tha's tha', then."

"Guess so."

He motioned for them to please, continue eating. They did so without any comment or disagreement, or, "oh, no Scabior, do come join us." It's not that he was entirely expecting them to, but it would have been nice not to be treated like an outside. Make his own breakfast? What kind of person had Orrick turned into where every interaction between them had to be bitter and cold?

Hermione finished quickly and pushed back from the table, smiling warmly at Orrick without so much as a glance in Scabior's direction. "Thank you very much for breakfast. I really do appreciate it." At that very moment, she finally looked at Scabior out of the corner of her eyes, but he could see something in that gaze, something he recognized as coy. "Orrick, would you mind possibly taking me into town later?"

Lounging across the length of the couch, Scabior sat up slightly, his chest tightening with panic. And then he looked out the window, at the heavy rain slapping against it, and felt himself relaxing again. His brother was no fool, and he had nothing to worry about.

"I don't think so." Orrick told Hermione gently.

She glanced at Scabior again, who smirked back at her and gave her a nod. _Told you so. _

"But as soon as the rain stops," Orrick continued, and Hermione looked back at him hopefully, "I'll take you."

Fantastic. Scabior slumped down into the cushions of the couch, scowling at his oblivious brother. So now the girl had something to look forward to, a point where she knew she was "free" and he could just bet that she'd be spending the next few days at the window, watching and waiting for the storm to blow over. He didn't know how long that would be, and then what?

With his arms crossed, Scabior could feel Hermione's wand against his breast, and for a moment, he took no notice of it. And then, he slowly sat up, eyes narrowed and smile on his lips. Orrick was forgetting the one thing Scabior had over him: _magic_. Standing, he walked towards the door, feeling Orrick and Hermione watching him curiously.

"Where are you goin'?" his brother asked suspiciously.

Scabior continued walking, and then stopped, his hand braced on the door knob. "Outside for some air."

He didn't hear any complaints as he opened the door, and as soon as it was closed, safely securing him away from his brother and the girl, Scabior reached into his pocket and pulled out the wand. It still felt severely odd in his hand, the shape completely different from his broken one. He worried briefly that the spell might rebound, and then he'd be caught with Hermione's wand. Although, he countered himself, what could she do about it? It's not like she had another wand to disarm him with. _He _was the one who had one.

Stepping out from the safety of the door stoop, Scabior felt the rain drenching his clothes all over again. He ignored the sopping fabric that was clinging to his skin, and raised the wand into the air. "_Procella._" He murmured, and felt the shake of the wand as the spell shot out through the tip in a brilliant blue streak of light. It spread out through the length of the sky, momentarily disappearing through the dark grey clouds. Scabior waited impatiently, squinting up at them. Had it not worked?

And then, the clouds turned an ever angrier shade of grey, nearly black. A loud crash of thunder rang out through the entire swamp, vibrating the ground beneath his boots as the rain began to pick up, pouring so hard that it nearly hurt. Scabior quickly put the wand back and then ducked into the cabin again, seeing both Orrick and Hermione staring at him curiously. He shook his damp hair, the long wet strands sticking to the back of his neck and his cheeks. "Pissin' down out there." He said matter-of-factly.

Orrick, still seated at the table, continued to stare at him until he realized Scabior wasn't about to say anymore. Then, he stood and began collecting the plates from breakfast, placing them in the sink without a word. Scabior looked past him at Hermione, who was turned in her chair to watch the rain pelt against the window.

"Funny how a storm can pick up so quickly." She murmured aloud.

Scabior sat down on the couch and nodded absently, looking at the window as well. "Mhmm."

"Almost as if by magic."

His head turned towards her at that, and he narrowed his eyes. "I s'pose so."

A dark look crossed Hermione's face, and from his seat on the couch, Scabior could see a muscle jumping in her clenched jaw. A moment passed of silence, and then she stood and walked over to him, her arms crossed tightly against her chest . She glanced once over her shoulder, probably checking to see if Orrick was listening. He was busy washing up the dishes, humming lightly to himself. Scabior knew he was eavesdropping, but that didn't stop Hermione.

"You have a wand." She bluntly accused him.

"Yea', m'broken one."

Slowly, she shook her head, her eyes narrowing into accusing slits. "No, you must have another one."

"Wha' makes you say tha'?" Scabior asked, sitting up to return her accusing stare with just as much force.

"The storm just _happened _to pick up when you went outside?"

"I guess so." He paused, and then began to laugh scornfully. "You _actually _think I can control the weather?"

"With a wand, yes."

Scabior plunged his hand deep inside of his pants pocket and brought out the only remaining piece of his wand that he had. He held it up for her to see the jagged bottom where it had separated from the rest, and he raised his eye brows. "So you think I can change the weather with _this_?" he wiggled it in front of her face mockingly and then put it away again. "Good lot that will do for me."

She continued to stare at him. "How am I supposed to believe you don't have another wand?"

"D'you honestly think I would still be _'ere_ if I did?" He didn't mean to sound so disgusted, but it would help his case, even if it meant hurting his brother's feelings. Which, by the way, he knew he had accomplished since the humming stopped for a moment, and then picked up again. Scabior wouldn't look at Orrick, but continued to challenge Hermione's gaze. He could tell from the way her tensed shoulders had relaxed slightly that she was actually starting to believe his lie.

"If I find out you've had a wand this whole time…" she began in a threating tone, and then trailed off, probably not sure how to finish. She turned, and stalked off to her bedroom. So, she'd believed him. That should have made him feel victorious, or at the very least somewhat accomplished. How come, then, he felt so low? Tricking people had always somehow brought him joy, and yet there he was, his mouth turned down like he'd tasted something sour, and his chest tightening. What in the bloody hell was happening to him?

"She's not a stray dog, Scabior." Orrick suddenly spoke up from his spot at the sink, keeping his back turned. "You can't just keep 'er 'ere 'cause you want to."

Scabior glowered at his brother. "Then why don't you just take 'er to town so she can leave?"

"'Is a day's trip, and unsafe during a storm. She's better t'stay 'ere till it blows o'er." There was the sound of water draining, and then Orrick was turning around, wiping his damp hands on a dish towel. He leaned against the sink and stared down his brother, emotionless but hitting him exactly where he'd intended to all the same. "I meant wha' I said. She's a 'uman being, Scabior. You just plucked 'er up and took 'er away and you know tha's not right. She's not yours for the takin'."

"Maybe I'm tyin' to keep 'er safe to keep myself safe." Scabior replied coldly, "You ever think of tha'?"

Orrick shrugged. "If tha's what you're telling yourself, then fine. But I know 'is much more than tha'."

"Oh yeah?" Sitting up, Scabior placed his forearms on his thighs and spread his legs, pretending to be eager. "What' is it, exactly, tha' you think I'm doin' with 'er?"

"You're not doin' anythin' right now." His brother answered slowly. "I know you want to, though."

"Want to _wha'_?"

"Be with 'er."

At this, Scbaior threw back his head and gave a bark of laughter. When he composed himself again, he looked right at Orrick to see that his face hadn't changed. He'd remained solemn, meaning he meant what he'd said. Scabior shook his head. "You can't be serious. She's absolutely nothin' t'me. A girl is the same no matter wha' and there's nothin' about 'er that makes 'er stick out." At this point, he realized that he was blatantly lying through his teeth, but made no move to show that on his face.

"You don' believe tha'."

"I do."

Sighing tiredly, Orrick placed the towel onto the counter, and then walked towards his brother, sticking his hands inside of his pants pocket and shaking his head. "Some day, Scabior, you'll be able to see just wha' it feels like to be in love. Someday," he spoke over the snort Scabior gave, "you won't overlook just wha' it is you're feelin' right now and you'll stop makin' excuses. Someday, and I 'ope tha' day is soon, you'll bloody grow up."

Scabior blew a stray strand of hair that had fallen in front of his eyes, and smirked. "An' how would you know? You've never been in love."

There was a long silence during which Orrick just stared at him, or rather it seemed, _through _him. Scabior waited while his brother's eyes grew distant, seeing something that he couldn't, and then Orrick swallowed, and turned his back. He began walking away, but before he disappeared into his bedroom just like Hermione had, he stopped. "There's a lot you don' know about me, Scabior. So don't assume." Without another word, he opened his door, and left his brother all alone with his thoughts.

**A/N: Just wanted to say quickly that I am so glad so many people are enjoying this =) I'm ALSO glad that I've been able to update so often recently. Not sure how many chapters I'll be able to get up in the next few weeks because I'm in exam mode and need to really study this semester. Hope I'll get some up before my serious studying starts!**


	7. Chapter 7

7.

**Hermione**

It had been months since she'd sat still with nothing to do, and after just a few hours of lying on in the guest bedroom, Hermione found herself fidgeting anxiously. Her mind began to wander, her thoughts mainly surrounding Harry and Ron. Had they escaped from Malfoy Manor? She couldn't remember very clearly, but she thought that before she'd been taken away from there, she had seen them bounding up the cellar steps. That didn't mean they were in the clear, though. Scabior had done a well enough job of angering Bellatrix and there was no telling what that anger would that transpired to with the two boys shooting spells in her direction.

Thinking of Bellatrix reminded Hermione of her arm, and she focused on it, she realized just how much it was hurting. Somehow she had managed to ignore the ache, like she had with her empty stomach, but now that she was motionless, she felt a certain painful throb coming from her forearm, so much so that she sat up and grimaced, terribly uncomfortable. No matter which way she twisted her arm, how close she held it to her body, or the cool pillows she pressed over top of it, it continued to hurt.

She stood up and padded quietly across the hardwood to open the door. The rest of the cabin was silent, and she moved quickly down the hall a little ways to get to the lavatory door before she could run into Scabior, wherever he was. What she hadn't anticipated, though, was the possibility that when she pushed open the door, he just might be in there.

And he just might be shirtless.

Hermione inhaled sharply from the shock, and stumbled backwards, ramming her elbow into the door knob of the door. Standing in front of the basin, Scabior barely even flinched, although it probably wouldn't have been wise for him to do so. He brought the razor blade along his face with his eyes focused on the mirror above the sink, slowly scraping away the shaving cream that covered his jaw and chin.

"You could'a knocked first." He murmured, rinsing the razor beneath the running water before bringing it up to his face again.

Hermione flushed a deep pink. "I didn't think anyone was in here, sorry." She kept her tone cold, trying not to lead on as to how embarrassed she was.

"S'alright. I'm just finishin' up."

"In that case, I suppose I'll just wait here until you're done."

Scabior shrugged lightly. "Be my guest."

Sighing, Hermione leaned up against the lip of the tub, letting her eyes wander the ceiling, the floor, the walls; anything to avoid looking directly at Scabior. It felt oddly intimate, being in such a small space with him while she shaved shirtless. Even so, her eyes somehow managed to make their way to his back, and without meaning to, she watched his shoulder blades roll and clench with the movements of his arms. What was it that he did to give him those muscles in his back? He didn't seem like the sort of person to work out often, although he must have been doing _something _to keep in shape, what with the athletic demands of his job.

"You're starin'."

Hermione's eyes darted away immediately. "No, I'm not."

"'Is alright. I'm not goin' to tell anyone." She could see his face in the mirror, and the wide smirk he wore.

"Don't flatter yourself."

He turned off the tap and set his razor blade on the corner of the basin. When he turned around, he was wiping at his face with a towel, getting the remaining cream off. "You don' need to be embarrassed." As he lowered the towel, he gave her a quick wink. She continued to scowl at him, but felt her cheeks burning fiercely, wishing he would just leave and let her scold her wandering eyes in peace.

She braced her hand on the side of the tub to raise herself to her feet, but she'd used the wrong arm and felt a stab of pain shoot up it. Letting out a gasp, Hermione brought it to her face and gripped her wrist, staring angrily at the words that were causing her so trouble. Her hand curled into a tight fist as she fought the pain, her teeth clenched.

"Is it still hurtin'?"

She looked up at Scabior, her face contorted in pain. "No, it actually feels brilliant."

"Lemme see." He made a move to step closer to her, but Hermione gave him a warning look as she shook her head. Scabior rolled his eyes. "I'm not goin' to hurt you; I just wan' to see it, tha's all." She was still reluctant, but he stood in front of her anyway and was surprisingly gentle as he pulled her hand from her sore arm, and bent down to examine the mark. His mouth remained a hard line on his face, eyes wandered the angry red slashes before he stood up again and began rummaging through a cupboard beneath the basin.

"What are you doing?" Hermione asked anxiously.

He didn't answer, having found whatever it was he was looking for. As he returned to her arm, she could see that he now held some sort of disinfectant ointment and a roll of gauze. "I thought you said you just want to see it." She reminded him bitterly.

Scabior looked up at her face, his fingers reaching for her arm again. "Would you rather it got worse?"

"I'd rather _Orrick _do this."

"Well, you're stuck with me, I'm 'fraid." He bowed his head and began applying the ointment to her skin. As soon as it touched the letters, Hermione let out a gasp of pain and writhed against his hand. He managed to keep a hold of her, and soon she grew still again as the cream numbed into a soothing sensation on her arm. She looked down at his hand, at the two fingers he was using to spread the ointment over the entire word. It left a clear translucent sheen on the lettering.

After Scabior wrapped the gauze around it, he stood and admired his work. Hermione remained where she was, avoiding looking at the flat plains of his abdomen that she was now eye-level with and instead focused on how better her arm felt. It still hurt a little, but definitely not as much as before, especially now that it was all wrapped up.

"Thank you." She said quietly, and raised her eyes to look at him. "I appreciate it."

"It was nothing." Scabior wrapped up what was left of the gauze on the paper tube, and then stuffed it back underneath the basin with the ointment as well. This time as he bent over, Hermione didn't bother looking away. She stared at the muscles in his back and shoulders, the dip between the blades where his pony tail rested, and felt her cheeks warming again. As soon as he was upright, she looked down at her arm and touched a hand to the gauze, feeling only slight pain whereas before it would have hurt a lot more.

She gave a small sigh. "Can I ask you something?"

"Depends."

"On what?"

Scabior crossed his arms over his bare chest and turned to face her, leaning against the basin with an easy smile. "Is it goin' to be an insult?"

"No." She continued to stare at her arm, trying to decide how she should word what she wanted to say. Finally, she swallowed the nervous lump in her throat, and her eyes flickered to his, surprised to see how patient they were, waiting for her to speak. "I just want to know why you're doing this."

"Doin' what?" he blinked. "Wrappin' your arm? You're hurt, 'is no big-"

"No, I don't mean my arm. Well," Hermione exhaled impatiently, and tried again. "it's not _just _my arm. It's everything. Why am I here and not on the floor at Malfoy Manor? Why did you save me? I just really, _really _want to know."

**Scabior **

He was quiet for a long time. How in the world was Scabior supposed to answer a question like that when he himself didn't even know the answer? He wasn't mad at her, though. Not even close. Because though he was posed in an awkward situation, he didn't blame her in any way. Curious minds ask questions. It's a part of life, isn't it? And besides, could he even blame her for asking that question, the same one that had kept him up half the night wondering himself?

"You're safe now." Scabior spoke slowly, his eyes hard. "Can't you just accept tha'?"

She sat up a little straighter and shook her head. "No, actually, I can't."

"What more d'you want?"

"The truth."

His eyes narrowed. "Tha' _is _the truth."

"You're lying." Hermione rose, and because of the lack of space in the bathroom, she was forced to stand quite close to Scabior; so close that he could smell her again. "You're a snatcher. It was your job, you're duty to Voldemort to bring me to the Malfoy house with everyone else. So why did you suddenly have a change of heart and take me away? Why did you sacrifice your own life just to save mine? And why is it so hard for you to tell someone the truth instead of lying through your bloody teeth?"

Scabior couldn't answer; he could barely _think_. That goddamn perfume hit him in an overwhelming wave of fragrance, and it took him a minute to clear his mind enough to remember just what it was she'd last said. When he did though, he swallowed and forced his eye brows to turn in, and his lips to curl slightly, giving him the hard look he was so used to wearing. "I don' have to answer your questions anymore, girlie. Jus' be 'appy you're not in tha' house anymore an' move on."

"Move on _where_, Scabior?" Her voice was rising loudly, and he could see hatred boiling hot in her face. "I can't go anywhere! I'm in the middle of nowhere without a wand! I can't get out of here until the storm clears up but in case you haven't noticed," she motioned angrily at the window. "That's not happening anytime soon! So don't just brush me off like this is nothing because it isn't _nothing_. I'm stuck here, you're stuck here, we're both without wands and I just want to know why!"

"Why what?" Now Scabior was practically yelling as well, making sure he wasn't the one being talked down to.

"Why did you save me?"

"Because I wanted to!"

"But _why_?"

Something happened in that moment, when Scabior was getting dizzy with his anger and the scent of her perfume. Something happened that made him push off the basin and reach out, as if to grab her, but something else happened that made him stop. It was her eyes, the sudden shock and fear that he saw in them. She didn't _want _him to touch her. She didn't want to see where he was going with his movements, to see what would happen next. She'd stepped backwards to put more space between them. If anything, she wanted to make sure he never got the chance to show her where he didn't know he was heading. And that made him freeze up completely.

A moment passed where neither of them made a move, a sound, or even took a breath. Eventually, it was Scabior who broke the silence, giving a loud sigh that drawled out longer than intended until he ended it with an impatient breath. He turned and threw open the door, nearly running into Orrick has he stalked out.

"What's wrong?" Orrick demanded, looking over his brother's shoulder with knitted brows at Hermione. "I 'eard yellin'."

Scabior just pushed past him to get to the kitchen, and began throwing open every cupboard door in sight. "'Aven't you got any alcohol in this place?" He demanded loudly, and gave a frustrated growl when he came up empty again.

Orrick came up beside him and put his hand on Scabior's bare shoulder. "I do, but you're not gettin' any while you're like this."

"Like _what_?" he wriggled out from underneath of his brother's grasp and pulled open a cupboard above the basin. There were two bottles of firewhiskey, and Scabior grabbed for the full one of Blishen's Whiskey, seeing as the other, Ogden's Old, was nearly empty. When he turned around again, the neck of the bottle gripped tight in his hand, he came face to face with Orrick, who didn't look pleased at all.

"Scabior." He said firmly, and made a move to grab the bottle. "Don' get drunk, not now."

"Don' tell me wha' to do." Scabior dodged past his brother's reaching hands and fell onto the couch, bringing the bottle to his lips and taking a long pull. The liquid burned in his throat, and he briefly thought of the first time he'd ever had a drink of firewhiskey; how some boy in the Slytherin common room in year five had somehow sneaked it past the teachers so that the boys could celebrate finishing their OWLS. If Scabior remembered correctly, he'd nearly thrown up from the burn but now it brought an almost soothing sensation to his throat, and before he'd even swallowed the first, he took another healthy gulp, his eyes closing and shivers running through his spine.

"Fine, Scabior." Orrick stood angrily in the middle of the cabin, one hand pointed towards his brother with his index finger out. "You drink until you bloody well think 'is solved all your problems."

Scabior just raised the bottle. "Cheers."

He was beginning to feel dizzy, and the sounds of his brother's retreating footsteps echoed in his ears until they sounded like he was stepping with metal pans strapped to the bottoms of his feet. When the door to his bedroom slammed shut, Scabior chuckled to himself, and took another drink. If he had a bloody room to storm off into, he wouldn't be left alone so much. Then again, he didn't mind. He had a lot to think about and a bottle to help him.


	8. Chapter 8

8.

**Hermione**

It didn't surprise her that a man like him would turn to drinking when he was upset. Scabior was the sort of person who couldn't handle whatever life threw at him, and it was only natural that he looked for something to help him cope. The only thing Hermione wished, though, was that he hadn't been such a completely arse to Orrick who was only trying to think of his brother's wellbeing. No wonder they were on such bad terms; Scabior treated his brother like dirt beneath his shoes. Was it because he was a wizard born muggle? Was he far too "below" Scabior for him to care? Evidently, blood only makes such a difference before the type of blood kicks in. Brothers or not, they just didn't get along.

Hermione had remained in the bathroom for only a moment longer, listening as Scabior chuckled to himself and drank alone before retreating to the guest bedroom. It was only just afternoon then, but she had no plans on spending any more time out there, especially not while Scabior was getting drunk. She didn't have anything to entertain herself with, though, so for the first hour, she lay on her bed, thinking about Hogwarts.

She thought about the people she'd met, the people she'd lost and all of the moments, good or bad, that had made her who she was today. If I could have one wish, she thought to herself, it would be to just go back to Hogwarts for one more year. She wanted to sit in a classroom again without having to worry about horcruxes, deatheaters or the possibility of being killed. When was the last time she sat through one of Professor McGonagall's lectures? When was the last time she watched a Quidditch game, sat in the Gryffindor common room, or just relaxed? Years. It's been years.

After an hour or so, Hermione rose and looked at the wardrobe that was sitting untouched across the tiny room. Her curiosity had managed to get to the best of her, and without thinking of how much of an invasion of privacy this was, she opened the door and looked inside. It was split in half; one half of the compartment was metal rack holding hangers of clothing, while the other half was made of drawers and shelves.

But _oh_, the clothes!

Hanging up was dozens of dresses, it seemed; all so colorful and vibrant and beautiful that Hermione couldn't help but reach out and brush her hand across the delicate, soft fabric of each. There were shoes as well, visible on the shelves, and each had a magnificent heel and color to it. Not one thing in this closet was a dull shade. Hermione found herself staring at bright pinks and blues and greens and yellows; purples and reds and variations of each! It was enough to take her breath away. But whose clothes were they, and how come they were sitting unused in a wardrobe, collecting dust? These deserved to be worn, to be shown off and to have some lucky girl feel terribly confident whilst wearing them.

There were other things inside as well, including equally vibrant clutches, hand bags, jewelry and sunglasses. Hermione's teeth snagged onto her lower lip as she took in the wardrobe, and although she wasn't at all confident enough to wear those sorts of clothes out in public, she liked the idea of at least seeing them on her. So, she grabbed the most beautiful dress, in her opinion. It was bright yellow, like the color of sunflowers, and had a strapless black top and kremlin underneath.

Hermione held the dress against her body, and turned to look at herself in the full length mirror that was attached to the back of the wardrobe door. The yellow in the dress brought out the pale color of her face, but the black in it as well worked to calm this effect so that the overall result was just breathtaking. She couldn't remember the last time she had felt so pretty, and she didn't even have the dress on! Smiling to herself, Hermione put the dress back on the rack with the others, and then closed the wardrobe doors, having decided she'd snooped enough. Still, her thoughts kept going back to the clothes, and she puzzled over who they might belong to.

Sometime later, Orrick knocked on her door to see if she wanted anything for lunch. He didn't open it, but remained standing on the outside until Hermione answered that she wasn't hungry and he left. Boredom fell over her once again as the silence did as well. She knew Scabior was probably still drinking, and it wouldn't surprise her if he was probably already drunk by now. It wasn't her problem though. If he wanted to drink himself stupid then _fine_.

* * *

><p>She hadn't realized that she had fallen asleep until she awoke with a start, surprised to be blinking into a dark room. Hermione was wondering what time it was when she heard the sound of a door knob turning. Her eyes zeroed in the door to the guest bedroom, only just able to see it from the moonlight coming in through the window. She watched the knob jiggle once, twice, three times as whoever was on the other side struggled to open it.<p>

"Orrick?" Hermione whispered, leaning forwards and shaking the last of her sleep from her body as she focused on the door. "Is that you?"

The door knob ceased its movements, but only for a moment before it was thrown open entirely. Hermione backed herself up against the headboard of her bed, squinting into the doorway to see just whose figure it was that was standing there. The candles in the rest of the cabin seemed to have already been blown out, which meant Orrick had gone to bed, which meant this wasn't Orrick stumbling towards her, unable to keep his footing.

"Scabior." Hermione whispered as he turned to close the door again. "Get out. I don't want to talk to you while you're like this."

From the light of the bright and constant flashes of thunder outside, she could see that he had pulled on one of Orrick's shirts and gone was the bottle of firewhiskey, probably empty out in the other room. He looked down at her, sitting with her knees drawn up to her chin on the bed, and gave a loud sigh. "I 'ope you know you're all I can t-think about anymore." He slurred drunkenly. Hermione said nothing, staring at him with wide eyes. Just what was his purpose of being in her room?

Scabior took another step forward, but his usually confident stride was made sluggish and sloppy by the firewhiskey that was racing through his limbs. He stumbled and knocked his knee into the chest at the foot of Hermione's bed. He managed to regain his balance before dropping onto the bed, holding his torso up with one arm braced on the sheets while the other tucked stray strands of his hair behind his ear. He looked right at Hermione, his eyes low and drooping but the same brilliant color and bearing the same intensity as they usually did.

"I can't get you outta m'head." He murmured. "You, 'Ermione, are nothing special. So _why_?"

She was struggling to keep up with his drunken slurs. "Why what?"

"Why am I always worried 'bout you?" Scabior pushed himself further up onto the bed until he was sitting with one leg hanging over the edge while the other curled beneath him. "Why do I c-care if you live or die, if you're 'urtin' or if you like me or not? _Why_?" Again, Hermione remained silent, but this time it was because she was refusing to believe anything he was saying. _He's just drunk. He doesn't mean any of this, he doesn't know what he's saying; none of it means anything. _

"D'you know why I saved you?" he asked, and without waiting for a response, he leaned forward and whispered, "because I fancy you, 'Ermione."

The mattress gave a low groan as he shifted forwards, leaning closer to her than she would have liked. Her eyes darted between him and the door, calculating how far it was and how much of a chance she had of getting away. The numbers weren't looking good. She swallowed tightly, and returned her gaze to Scabior's scattered one. "I think you should leave now." She said quietly, and then cleared her throat. "Please."

He smoothed his hair down on top of his head and then let his hand slap onto his thigh again. "You think you're too good for me. I'm just a snatcher, right? I'm not rich an' I'm not handsome but none of tha' matters as much as tha' I'm not a '_good person_'." He made air quotes around the words, sounding disgusted. "Would a bad person save you? Hmm? Would a b-bad person risk their life, throw away everythin' they've ever known, just to save some girl?" His hand reached out shakily, and before Hermione could pull away, he was lightly running his fingers through her ponytail, his eyes focused on this task.

"Please, Scabior." She looked down at her lap, and swallowed. "Please, just go."

He continued to play with her hair, his fingers surprisingly gentle. "I tried not to like you, you know. I tried to 'ate you because you're just some girl who smells good and who's pretty and who is so brave. _So brave._ He pulled back so their gazes latched, and he shook his head, as if in awe. "You're so amazing. I can't 'ate you, no matter 'ow 'ard I try, I jus' can't 'ate you." His hand in her hair slipped, and rested on her shoulder. Hermione jumped slightly, but he didn't take it away. Instead, he let it slide gently down the length of her arm, stopping only at the bandage that was hiding Bellatrix's work.

"I'm sorry." He sounded sad, staring with sorrow filled eyes at the gauze. "I should 'ave 'elped you sooner."

Hermione tried to pull away, but he had a hold of her wrist and was keeping her where she was. "Scabior-"

"Wha' if all it takes is one kiss?"

Hermione's eyes widened, and she found herself unable to speak, her mouth suddenly filled with sand.

"One kiss." Scabior repeated thoughtfully. "One kiss, an' I'm good as new. I'll be back to m'old self." He looked up at her face, his eyes searching hers and mouth parted as he inhaled and exhaled softly. "I jus' need to know if you taste as good as you smell. Tha's all I need." She saw him leaning in towards her, and before she could open her mouth to protest, he'd pressed his lips over top of them.

The first thing Hermione thought of was just how warm his mouth was, moving over hers softly, almost hesitantly, although that could have been from the fact that he was drunk and unable to fully control his movements. He tasted strongly of firewhiskey, enough to make her wrinkle her nose, but his lips were sweet. And for some reason, she never once thought of trying to get him off of her. Not as his hands found the sides of her face and held her gently against him, his mouth opening so their breath mingled between their parted lips.

They both realized that she was kissing him back at the same time. Scabior suddenly pulled away, his eyes wide and rounded with confusion. She looked down shamefully, listening as his mouth opened, only to snap shut again. The bed shook as he stumbled off of it, and a moment later, her door was opening and closing again. Once he was gone, she pushed her face into the pillows on her bed and tried desperately to forget about the fact that her heart had yet to stop pounding and she pretended that she couldn't still feel the warmth of his hands on her face, or his lips on hers.

**Scabior**

He woke up with a ball of tension between his shoulder blades, and his cheek pressed flat on the cabin floor. It took a moment for Scabior to break through the last of sleep clouding his mind before he finally realized that he hadn't made it to the couch the previous night. He'd been so close, too; just a few more feet to the right and he would have been good. Instead, he ended up lying on the floor with a pounding head ache and a bad taste in his mouth. Bracing his hands on the ground, he pushed himself up onto his knees and then stopped, hissing through his teeth because of the nausea that had fallen over him. The symptoms of a hangover were all apparent, so he'd obviously been drinking yesterday and got a little carried away. Not much of a surprise there.

A cupboard door slamming made Scabior flinch, the noise echoing in his head.

Slowly, he dragged his gaze across the space of the cabin to see Orrick standing in the kitchen, pouring tea into a mug. "Mornin'." His brother greeted him formally. "Sleep alrigh'?" As Scabior struggled to figure out how his mouth worked, Orrick threw open the utensil drawer, grabbed a spoon and began stirring his tea, the metal hitting the sides of the porcelain mug loudly. At once, Scabior groaned and shook his head back and forth, silently pleading for his brother to stop.

"Little 'ungover, are we?" Orrick's lips turned down disapprovingly, but he thankfully ceased his stirring. "You owe me two new bottles of firewhiskey, by the way."

Scabior stared at him through clouded eyes. "Two? One was already 'alf empty."

"Fine: one an' a 'alf."

While his brother sat down at the table with his mug, Scabior tried to remember what happened the previous night. He could remember grabbing the first bottle of firewhiskey from the cupboard, but anything else after that was fuzzy. Sometime near the bottom of that drink, he'd taken one of Orrick's shirts. And yes, he was still wearing it. Scabior looked down and pulled at the grey fabric with a grimace. "Where are my clothes?" he asked.

"Dryin' over there." Orrick nodded his head in the direction of a clothes rack, sitting in the corner of the room in front of the fireplace.

"Why didn't I give you m'pants?"

"You tried to." His brother grimaced. "I told you to keep 'em on for the time bein'."

"Ah."

The cabin was quiet again, the only sound from the rain pelting against the roof and windows. Scabior turned his face to look out the window, and felt pride at the heavy storm he had created. He hadn't been the worse, but he'd never been the best at magic, either; there were always people who were far better than him that soared in the classes at Hogwarts. This storm, though, was wonderful. Hard rain, angry clouds, loud thunder and bright flashes of lightening…it all looked so well done and so real! He truly wished he were able to gloat about it to someone.

"Good mornin'." Orrick said, and when Scabior turned his torso around, he saw that he was speaking to Hermione.

She looked pale and tired, like she hadn't slept at all last night. Her eyes bore dark shadows underneath them, her movements slow and sluggish, far unlike her usual steps. As she walked, her gaze remained on the ground, refusing to look at either Orrick or Scabior. What was her problem? Scabior pulled himself up onto the couch and watched her sit down beside his brother, her hand holding up her chin so it wouldn't fall. Where had the life, the spark, in this girl gone?

"Tea?" Orrick offered, half out of his seat and motioning at the kettle with raised eye brows.

Hermione just shook her head. "No, thank you. I'm not thirsty this morning."

"'Ungry?"

Again, she shook her head.

It was while Scabior was staring at her with narrowed eyes, trying to figure out what could have happened to make her so grey and lifeless, that he finally remembered what happened last night. He recalled sitting on the couch, slopping firewhiskey onto Orrick's shirt and sitting in the dark after his brother had blown out all of the candles. He'd been staring at the bright flashes coming in through the window, listening to the thunder, and then thought of Hermione sitting in her bedroom. Ask anyone and they'll tell you the other name for firewhiskey is 'liquid courage', and that's exactly what it was. If he'd been sober, he wouldn't have staggered to his feet and barged into her room. If he'd been sober, he wouldn't have poured his heart out to some girl and then kissed-

His eyes widened.

He'd _kissed _her?

No wonder the girl was in shock.

Scabior sat up on the couch, his mind racing. What exactly had he said that made him want to kiss her? He just couldn't remember that far into the night, but what he could remember clearly was staring at her mouth as he twirled her hair and just wondering to himself if she tasted like she smelled. And then he'd looked at her arm, at the bandage, and felt like scum for being a part of that. It must have been a mixture of those two moments that sent him over the edge, or maybe it was the fact that the entire time he touched her, she didn't move away like she had that afternoon in the lavatory when he'd tried to reach out for her. He must have taken that as a sign last night, and then, he'd kissed her.

The kiss he remembered exactly. It had been awhile since he'd kissed anyone, and the alcohol didn't help him very much, but he'd landed right where he intended to and it had sent the most wonderful sensation rippling down through his spine. He remembered want to pull her closer, to hold her against his chest and protect her from everything and anything, but then he'd felt her kissing him back, and the realization of what he'd been doing had hit him. The idiot had run out of the room and finished off that bottle Orrick had left half full, half empty, whichever.

Now, Scabior brought a hand up to his lips, and grazed his fingers across them lightly, thinking of Hermione. Had it really been that fantastic of a kiss, or was that just his drunken mind playing tricks on him? No, he decided after a moment's thought. It hadn't been the firewhiskey, it had been his mind enjoying the feeling of her mouth on his. It had been his mind that told him to stop, too, when he realized that, and it was his mind he was now blaming for ruining what just might have been the best moment of his existence. So yes, it had been that fantastic of a kiss. But was it worth this? Was it worth seeing her beating herself up for responding to him?

Lowering his hand again, Scabior cleared his throat gruffly and then stood up. "Orrick, d'you mind if I talk to 'Ermione alone?"

Orrick's eyes narrowed at his request. "Why?"

"I jus' need to talk to 'er." He looked past his brother at Hermione, who was staring up at him with a wide eyed expression. "If tha's okay with you."

Slowly, she nodded, looking terribly confused.

Orrick took his time leaving, obviously not trusting his brother alone with the girl. Scabior wondered if Hermione might have somehow told him about the kiss, but if that were the case, he probably wouldn't have left so easily. As soon as he was out of sight and out of ear shot, Hermione leaned across the table to frown at him. "What did you want to talk about?"

And now for the awkward part.

Scabior sighed and scratched at the back of his neck. "I…well, last night."

"What about last night?" she was playing oblivious but he could see the memory of it in her eyes and the way she'd slowly leaned back again, looking equally uncomfortable to be discussing it.

"When I, er, kissed you," he stopped to watch her grimace and look away. "I was drunk and I didn' know what I was doin'. So, I'm sorry if I made you, uh, uncomfortable."

"Okay."

He blinked, waiting for more. "Tha's it? Tha's all you 'ave to say?"

"What more do you want me to say?"

Yes, Scabior's mind shouted loudly at him, what more _did _you want her to say? He stared at her for a long time without saying anything, his heart feeling heavy like a rock in his chest. To be honest, he'd been wanting her to tell him not to apologize; that she'd been wanting to kiss him for a while too and was glad he'd made the first move. More than anything, he just wanted to hear that she enjoyed it. That was all he wanted. But there wasn't a chance in hell he was going to get it because she so obviously did _not _enjoy it. He could tell from the way she made a point of not looking at him. She just wanted to forget it ever happened.

"Nothing, I s'pose." Scabior swallowed. "So, like I said, I'm sorry."

Hermione stared down at her lap, and nodded slowly. "Okay."

"Okay." He repeated, more to himself than to her. "So tha's tha' then."

She just sighed and said nothing, giving a light shrug of her shoulders.

But it wasn't over, Scabior knew ti wasn't. Because maybe the kiss hadn't meant anything to Hermione, but now it was all he could think about. He wanted to feel her against him again and have her kiss him back again. He wanted to know that there might be something more than the lie he'd put between them, and to know that it was reciprocated from both sides; not just his. So it definitely was not over. Now Scabior knew his obsession with Hermione Granger went far beyond smelling her perfume in the forest one day. Now she was his everything; every thought, every feeling, every desire.

**A/N: God I should really start studying for my exams xP Oh, and if you see any mistakes in this, it's because my free period is about to end and I'm not bothering to spell check and look it over right now. I jsut want to post it! x) thanks for reading!**


	9. Chapter 9

9.

**Hermione**

She hadn't slept at all the previous night. If anyone asked, she would blame the loud thunder and the constant flashes of lightening that illuminated her room, but those were lies. The truth was, she'd spent the night lying awake, replaying the kiss over and over in her head. It's not like she wanted to. If it were up to her, she'd have forgotten about it and moved on. But her mind didn't like to co-operate and decided to make it the only thing she could think about. And that's what happened. All night she recalled the way he'd touched her face, his hands surprisingly gentle as if he were afraid he was going to break her, even in his drunken state. She'd recalled the feeling of his warm breath on her cheek as he leaned forward. And finally, she'd recalled the kiss itself, and how shamefully wonderful it had been for her.

This wasn't supposed to be happening. Hermione wasn't supposed to be feeling this way about someone who months before was seen as the enemy. He was a snatcher. His job was to turn wizards like her in, not save her from torture and then kiss her in the middle of the night. Why couldn't she have just been left at the Malfoy Manor, rather than thrown into this horrible, whirlwind of confusion and mixed emotions? Nothing made sense to her anymore. Nothing at all.

They remained together in the quiet space of the cabin for a while longer, standing without words or crossed gazes. Hermione managed to keep her eyes on her hands, examining her fingers like they were a new concept to her. She didn't know what else Scabior planned on saying while he stood there, but she didn't say anything to try and either rush him or make him leave. The truth was that while his apology left her cold and reluctant to admit what she'd felt the previous night, she found that she didn't actually want him to go. It was such an eerie revelation she'd had; yesterday it was all she could do not to run out of the lavatory when the opportunity for them to be alone had arose and then now, today, she couldn't find it in herself to budge.

There was something about Scabior's presence that made her feel odd, like something was trying to escape from her stomach. She'd furrowed her brows and thought extensively about what it might have been to give her such a change of heart, because surely this man standing before he was still the man who'd taken her from her friends and given her over to Bellatrix. But at the same time, this man before her was also the same man who'd saved her from torture, (possibly even death), and who had gingerly wrapped bandage on the reminder left from that day. More importantly though, he was the same man who stumbled into her bedroom, lost in a sea of firewhiskey, and ready to admit all that had remained a mystery up until then. Of course, he was also the same man who'd kissed her and sent her to places she'd never been, made her heart beat faster than any time before, and who had made once a sure mind scatter into that of someone left confused with issues of trust.

So that was just the problem facing her now: did she trust Scabior or didn't she?

If she didn't trust him, there was no explanation as to why she was so reluctant for him to leave.

Orrick returned from his bedroom a few minutes later, his eyes alert and searching Hermione's without a spoken question of what happened. She knew he was curious but had no plans on filling him in. She wasn't going to tell him about the kiss, of course, and she most definitely wasn't going to tell him about her unusual response to it. As Orrick circled the table quietly, neither Hermione nor Scabior made a sound, both watching his movements without making any of their own.

"So." Orrick said, and he stopped to stand beside Hermione's chair. "Are we done now?"

Scabior began to nod. "I s'pose so."

Hermione couldn't find it in herself to speak; her lips remained sewn shut, anything she wanted to say sticking tight in her throat with nowhere to go but back down again. She considered the option of running back to her room, exhausted from her efforts to be as nonchalant as possible during Scabior's apology. Now all she wanted to do was throw herself into that mound of pillows and blankets and just sleep. Even still, she remained rooted to her chair, her legs crossing and uncrossing uneasily beneath the table top.

Scabior cleared his throat and her eyes instinctively flew to him, watching as he gave his brother a tight smile. "Orrick, d'you mind if I use your room for a few 'ours? I didn' get much sleep last night." Hearing his words, Hermione felt a shameful blush spreading like a wildfire across her face. Of course he hadn't gotten much sleep; he'd spent most of the night drinking and then another part of it confessing himself to her inside of her room.

Orrick nodded. "Alrigh'."

"Thanks."

Without another word to either of them, Scabior sauntered off into the direction of his brother's bedroom, tugging at the hem of the tee shirt he wore with one hand while the other smoothed down the mess of his dark hair; a habit Hermione was just beginning to pick up on. Once the door was closed behind him, and the sound of the springs in the mattress groaning was audible, Orrick took a seat at his chair again, sitting right across from Hermione.

"Are you goin' to tell me wha' 'appened?"

She bit her lip and gave him her best, reassuring smile. "Nothing happened. Why do you ask?"

"Scabior asked to talk to you alone. I didn' take tha' as nothin'."

"We discussed my arm." Hermione thought quickly, and held it up for him to see the bandage. "He wrapped it for me yesterday and wanted to see how it was doing today."

Orrick still seemed suspicious. "Why did I 'ave to leave?"

"Perhaps Scabior was embarrassed at this unusual act of kindness."

"Or perhaps you're not tellin' me everythin'." He gave her a solemn look, and propped his chin up with his palm, his elbow resting on the table top. "I know somethin' 'appened last night. I 'eard Scabior in the cabin, walking across the floor and then I 'eard _your _door being opened. So," he raised his eye brows. "What exactly 'appened in your bedroom?"

"Scabior came in drunk," Hermione answered slowly, cautiously. "And then he left."

"He didn't try and…do anythin'?"

"No."

Orrick sat back in his seat and continued to size her up. She wondered if he could see right through her lie, but if he could, he didn't lead it on. Instead, he just shrugged his shoulders and gave a small smile. "Well, if you say he didn' do anythin' then he probably didn' do anythin'." She returned his smile rather shakily, letting it drop the moment his eyes flickered to something else in the room. "I expect you're bored out of your mind 'ere, eh?"

"I'm just not used to sitting still for a long time, that's all."

"I 'ave some books," Orrick offered kindly, "if you're in the mood for readin'."

"Thank you, very much. I'd like that."

She remained in her seat as he went to fetch his favourites from his collection on the shelf, and she kept her back to his bedroom where she could hear Scabior's low, steady breaths. She refused to let her mind wander dangerously, as it begged to do. When Orrick returned, she was innocently picking at her finger nails, and greeted him with a friendly smile. She stretched out the smile as he laid his books on the table in front of her, and while he explained each to her in extensive detail. The only time her smile fell again was when Orrick went to pour himself some more tea from in the kitchen, and she found herself flipping aimlessly through a book, trying to focus on the words and not the thought of the man sleeping in the next room.

**Scabior**

When he woke up, his limbs were laying heavy against the mattress, denying him as he tried to lift them to sit up. Whatever light still left outside was clouded by the storm, and so the room remained as dark and grey as it had been when he'd first entered to sleep. Scabior had no idea what time it was, or which part of day it might have been, but he felt sluggish and knew it must have been hours that he'd been laying in his brother's bed.

He forced himself upright and blinked tiredly, letting his eyes wander the length of the room. It was decorated just like the rest of Orrick's cabin with the smell of wood hanging thick in the air, as if it was only just built yesterday. His brother had never been one for material items, and so he kept his bedroom plain and modest. There was the bed, a single dresser and a desk sitting in the small space, as well as a bookshelf overflowing with titles Scabior had never even heard of. There were many candles left in the state of short stubs from constant use, sitting in thick puddles of dried wax on the furniture. Scabior wondered how many nights Orrick spent here in his bedroom, reading by candlelight or just sitting alone with his thoughts.

It was no mystery to Scabior that his brother was a lonely man. Even as children, Orrick refused to socialize, preferring to be a recluse inside of the house where he couldn't be tormented. He grew up being mocked for who he was, or rather, who he wasn't. It was hard to be without magic in a place where that was what defined you. It was the same case with their mother who was a muggle. Their father, the only other wizard in the family aside from Scabior, pitied both his wife and son for their being so different from everyone else. Therefore, Orrick received practically all of the attention when they were children. If Scabior had to guess when it all started, it would have to have been the day he received his letter for Hogwarts and got to go to Diagon Alley where he purchased his wand.

That was a day Scabior could remember quite clearly; coming home with his father and showing off everything he had bought. They weren't the most financially stable family, and buying his books, Hogwarts uniform, wand and bearded dragon to bring with him to Hogwarts probably set them back a fair bit. But it felt good to be the centre of attention for once, and to know that despite the price of everything, his father persisted on him having this and that. He couldn't help but come home and show Orrick each and everything he'd bought. Orrick was especially fascinated by his wand, and Scabior would later come into his bedroom to find his brother in there, flicking it angrily at the wall with nothing happening.

Father tried to explain to him that when his time came to go to Hogwarts, his magic abilities would show as well. But that time came and left, and Orrick still couldn't preform any spells. It was obviously terribly hard for him having to accept the fact that he wasn't a wizard. Before Scabior found out he had powers and his brother found out he had none, they would spend afternoons together discussing what it would be like when they went to Hogwarts. They fantasized about the sorting hat, the quidditch games they would go watch, (Orrick was especially excited about those, having told Scabior on multiple times that he was going to try out to be the seeker) and they especially talked about all of the magic spells they would be able to freely preform.

But in the end, it was Scabior who experienced all of this on his own while his brother stayed at home with his parents and was homeschooled.

Slowly, Scabior dragged his legs over the side of the bed and unsteadily rose to his feet. He waited a moment for the last of his sleep to leave his clouded vision before continuing forwards, running into Orrick's dresser rather than out the door, as he initially planned. Groaning, Scabior tried again and this time managed to turn his body accordingly and grab hold of the handle, pushing open the door and following through it without any problems.

The cabin was quiet except for the sound of the steady pounding of rain on the roof and the occasional roll of thunder outside. Scabior blinked, turning in a slow circle to get a 360 of the room to see where everyone was. The only person in there besides himself was Hermione, lying across the length of the couch with a book placed close to her face, her eyes wandering the pages while her hand was draped down over the couch, grazing the top of a stack of more books below her. She turned the page and continued reading, unaware of Scabior standing there, watching her.

To put it simply, he was fascinated by her. Everything she did, everything she said and everything about her made him stop and stare which was something Scabior just wasn't used to. He'd been with his fair share of women, just like any other normal man in the world, but none of them could even hold a candle to Hermione Granger. The truth was that she was incredible and had made a lasting impression on him. There was no point in even trying to deny anything anymore. He saved her because it would have literally killed him to continue to watch the most amazing person he'd ever laid eyes on be tortured. He stupefied Bellatrix because it was all he could do not to kill her on the spot for what he was doing to Hermione. And he didn't kiss her last night because he was drunk; he kissed her because it was the only thing he wanted to do anymore.

Scabior inhaled, and walked over to the couch slowly, the floorboards creaking loudly underneath his feet and announcing his entrance for him. Hermione looked up and stared expressionless at him, lowering the book she was reading so it was face down on her torso.

"'Ello." Scabior greeted her quietly, stopping to stand behind the arm of the couch so he was looking down at her.

Her face remained utterly indifferent, but he could see something in her eyes, a certain shift in the pupils that made him feel like he wasn't entirely unwelcomed. Or maybe that's just what he wanted it to mean. "Hi." She said, and then sat up, drawing her knees underneath her chin and nodding at the freed space on the couch beside her. Almost too eagerly, Scabior sat down, making sure there was a comfortable amount of room between them so that she didn't feel he was crowding her.

"What were you readin'?" he nodded at the book she was placing back on top of the stack of titles beside her.

"Jane Eyre."

"Never 'eard of it."

"I'm not surprised. The author was a muggle." She relaxed into the cushions of the couch, her eyes growing distant and her lips pulling back into a light smile. "It's an eighteenth century love story between a headstrong, plain girl who is constantly punished for thinking on her own, and her master; a handsome man who asks her to become his mistress when he grows unhappy with his awful marriage." Hermione looked at Scabior. "It's such a beautiful tale."

"So he falls in love with 'er while 'e is married to someone else?"

"I like to think he was in love with her before he became engaged." She looked down at the book with a soft, admiring expression. "They flirted off and on for a long time but it seemed he was trying to keep professional for her sake."

Scabior raised one eye brow. "So 'e was 'iding how 'e felt about 'er?"

"Yes. And that's the worst thing a man can do. Poor Jane spent years thinking he thought unkindly of her before he asked her to start an affair."

"So you think e' should 'ave admitted his love?"

Hermione nodded, still staring fondly at her book. "Of course. Imagine the pain he must have felt, hiding his feelings for so long. It's like mental torture."

Scabior didn't even have to read the book to know how that must feel. Clearing his throat, he decided to change the subject. "Where is m'brother?"

"He went to take a bath only just before you came out of his room."

"Wha' time is it?"

Hermione glanced behind his head at the clock on the wall. "Quarter past six."

"I slept all day?" She nodded. "Why did no one wake me?"

"Orrick said to let you sleep. He said you needed the rest after your-" she stopped suddenly, looking away with flushed cheeks. "Er, after your long night."

He could tell immediately, just from her reaction that she was thinking about him coming into her bedroom, and he wondered if the rouge on her cheeks were from humiliation at having kissed him back, or (and this was a risky, far more impossible notion) it was from remembering the kiss itself. For the sake of his sanity, Scabior decided it was from remembering the kiss. She was feeling flustered, maybe a little ashamed as well but certainly not from returning his actions. This shame was from actually blushing, as he knew Hermione was most likely one of those girls who didn't like to blatantly express their emotions.

The silence hung thick in the air between them. Hermione adjusted her position on the couch for a moment, cleared her throat twice, and avoided looking at Scabior for all it was worth, her eyes wandering the ceiling and walls aimlessly. Finally she gave a tired sigh, the sound of defeat, and turned her torso to face him full on. "We need to talk about what happened last night."

"Alrigh'." He sat back on the couch, his arms spread across the top in a lazy fashion and his right leg crossed over his left. "Talk."

Hermione looked down at her hands clasped tightly in her lap and stared at her entwined fingers as she spoke, like the speech was for them rather than for Scabior. "You said it was all because you were drunk; that everything you said and," her cheeks coloured again, darker this time, "everything you did was because you didn't have any control. But I don't believe that." She finally raised her eyes to his, and he could see the confusion swimming in them, begging for answers. "A lot…a lot of what you said last night didn't entirely sound like drunken slur. I just want to know if it was true."

Scabior frowned at her, trying to recall what exactly it was he had said. "If what was true?"

It looked like she was regretting having said anything at all. But she continued all the same, even though she sounded like each word was something she just needed to spit out already, no matter how rushed it was. "If you saved me because you fancy me, Scabior. That is what I want to know. And I don't want you dodging around the answer like you have before because I'm not going to let you." She didn't specify how she was going to avoid this happening, and Scabior knew she had no way to ensure that since she was as wandless as she believed him to be. But she didn't need to explain herself. It was his turn.

**A/N: Jane Eyre part is probably wrong, and i desperately need to re-read the book again and maybe i should have also looked up a summary but I was so tired when i wrote this xP Anyways, so sorry for how long this update took! I had nearly three quarters of it written before my exams started at school, and it was such torture not to just throw away the binders and continue writing this =) Ah well. Here's chapter nine! No idea when chapter ten will be up, because my small holiday after exams is done and semester two starts on monday; not sure how much writing i'll get in while I'm adjusting to the change. We'll see! Thanks for reading everyone!**


	10. Chapter 10

10.

**Hermione**

Hermione waited, her fingers clinging tightly to each other and eyes flickering over Scabior's face, trying desperately to decode the puzzle of emotions that crossed it. It wasn't like she'd planned on confronting him about the night before. In fact, she'd figured that it would remain unspoken between them. But the question of whether all he'd said before he had kissed her must have been bothering her more than she'd realized, because it seemed as soon as he sat down on the couch, it was all she could think about. Now she waited rather impatiently, wanting to know if what he'd said was true or not. Which answer she was hoping for, she wasn't sure. But an answer, nonetheless, would be good.

After what seemed like an eternity, Scabior slowly uncrossed his legs and braced his hands on his knees, waiting a moment before turning his body and facing Hermione who was facing him. If she shifted an inch, their legs would have been touching.

"I 'aven' been completely 'onest with you." He began, and his eye brows pulled together as he concentrated on the ground. "About a lot o'things."

Hermione felt something inside of her bubbling. She knew it was the excitement, the anticipation of finally knowing everything. "Well, tell me. I deserve to know."

Without warning, Scabior was suddenly on his feet, pacing the room in front of her. "It's complicated." He explained with a frustrated tone, rubbing at his forehand with the palm of his hand and turning his back to her so he was talking to the darkened window. "I don' really know where to start."

"How about the beginning?" she suggested quietly. "I want you to tell me everything."

"Fine. Jus'…give me a second."

He remained silent in front of the window, his hands braced on the glass and eyes pointed at something deep in the midst of the rain storm. From her seat on the couch, Hermione just barely see his face, but it was enough to be able to recognize the conflicting emotions that were fighting for dominance in his expression. His jaw worked quietly, clenching and unclenching, and then he spoke, his voice quieter than Hermione had anticipated.

"I 'ave never met anyone like you, Granger. You 'ave no idea the effect you 'ave on a person, 'specially me, and I don' think you ever will." He gave a short, humorless laugh and shook his head. "You're too perfect, you know tha'? Everythin' about you is jus' so perfect, it's incredible. Your smell was wha' caught my attention that day in the woods. Without even bein' able t'see you, I knew you were different. An' I was right. You're not like other girls, 'Ermione. You've seen more now than some witches will ever see in their entire lives and yet you're still so innocent. Tha's wha' got me; 'ow innocent you are. Even now, despite knowin' all you've been through, I still feel like I 'ave to protect you.

'I took your scarf that day partially because we 'ad to find you three, but also because I wanted to 'old onto that scent. It was wha' kept me up at night, wha' I found myself thinkin' about too much. An' then we found you, an' you were even more beautiful than I'd expected." Hermione watched his knuckles grow white as his fingers pressed hard into the glass of the window, his shoulders tensing as well. "I still don' know why I captured you. Doin' my job, I s'pose. But the regret I felt, 'specially after 'anding you o'er to the Malfoy's was too much. An' then I 'eard you screamin', and it tore through me. I 'ad to save you, even if it meant putting m'self in danger, too."

While he spoke, Hermione remained still, her eyes wide and chest pinching from how overwhelmed she was. She didn't dare interrupt him, though. She needed to hear this.

"I tried ignorin' wha' I was feelin'," He said, his head bowed almost as if in shame. "I 'ad to pretend I wasn' thinkin' about you every day and night, and tha' I wasn' always wantin' to… well," he turned his head slightly, looking at her over his shoulder sheepishly. "wantin' to kiss you. But firewhiskey can make you do a lot of things you normally wouldn't. So last night, when I kissed you and said all of those things, it wasn' because I was drunk. It was because I needed some liquid courage to make me do it, finally."

She stared at him for a moment when he finished, feeling like someone had filled her with lead. She couldn't move, she couldn't speak; all she could do was think about everything he'd just said. So last night, all he had confessed was true. No lies, no tricks, just a man filled with firewhiskey and ready to admit what he'd been keeping from her. She tried to think back on what he had said last night, but a lot of it was a blur. What she remembered had been repeated just now while he confessed for a second time. He saved her because he fancied her. He kissed her because he wanted to.

"'Ermione Granger, speechless." Scabior laughed nervously, still standing at the window. "I feel like you should be sayin' somethin' right now."

Her eye brows rose but her gaze remained distant, trying to figure out how she felt about it all.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes." She managed finally, and then cleared her throat before adding, "I'm just thinking."

"Abou'?"

"A lot of things."

Scabior turned around slowly, his eyes going immediately to her face. "Tha' doesn' sound good."

Without saying anything, Hermione looked down at her hands, seeing that she'd been digging her nails into the palm of her right hand rather hard. When she slowly retracted them, her hand was red and half-moon crescents in her skin were left behind. She watched them gradually fade, her eye brows knitting together and teeth gnawing on her lower lip. She knew Scabior was waiting for her to say something, and what exactly he wanted her to say, she didn't know. But she knew other things that were going on in that moment. Like, for instance, that there was a cluster of butterflies desperately trying to escape her stomach, and as well a deep red coloring in her cheeks, heating up her entire face. She knew that her foot was tapping anxiously against the wood floors of the cabin, her heart was beating faster than she'd ever felt it, and everything inside of her was begging she get up off the couch and go to him. But she fought this last feeling with all she had, which wasn't much.

"I need some air." Hermione gasped, stumbling to her feet and hurrying over to the door. When she threw it open, the wind blew the rain inside, hitting against her face and dampening her hair and clothes almost immediately. Despite the cold chill that came with it, she stepped outside, hearing the roll of thunder in the sky above her and the sound of Scabior's feet on the floor, rushing to catch up. She took a few more steps into the storm and found herself standing in the middle of the soaked grass front yard of Orrick's cabin, her face turned up at the sky like that might give her the answers she wanted.

"'Ermione?" Scabior touched a hand to her shoulder gently. "You should come back inside."

Without meaning to, she whipped around rather forcefully, causing him to stumble backwards a few paces out of surprise. "This isn't supposed to be happening!" she cried, throwing her hands up in the air and then letting them slap down against her wet jeans again.

He looked confused. "Wha' isn't?"

"Any of this!" she motioned around them like that would explain everything. "It all shouldn't be happening!"

Scabior's eye brow lifted and he took a careful step towards her, reaching out one hand. "I don' understand wha' you're tryin' t'say."

"You're the enemy!" Hermione exploded at him. "You took me away from my friends! You caused this to happen!" She held up her arm to show him the bandages that it bore, much to his displeasure. "Everything about you should make me want to run away out of terror and yet…" she trailed off, blinking through the rain that was blinding her.

"An' yet wha'?" Scabior urged her gently.

"And yet," she whispered, "I don't want to leave. I don't like the idea of being away from you, and since you kissed me, you're all I can think about. I didn't sleep at all last night, do you know that? I stayed awake for hours replaying the kiss in my mind and wishing that you'd come back. That's not supposed to be happening." Slowly, Hermione sank to her knees, feeling the mud soaking through her jeans and not caring one bit. She bowed her head shamefully and let the rain pour over her, silently wishing that she could be washed away into the swamp and just disappear forever.

**Scabior**

He hadn't been expecting that at all.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Scabior knew that was the reaction he had been hoping for. Praying for, would be a better word actually. And yet, even after she had spoken, he couldn't believe this was real. He remained standing motionless as he watched her fall to her knees, and wondered to himself if maybe he hadn't woken up yet .Maybe he hadn't left Orrick's bedroom and was still sleeping in his bed, imagining this all. What a cruel mind he had.

It was the rain that convinced him otherwise. Had it not been so cold and so unmistakably real against his clothes and skin, he would have continued and encouraged this train of thought leading him to believe all of it was in his head. But as he stood beneath the harsh storm, his hair sticking damp against his neck and Orrick's tee-shirt clinging to his chest, Scabior realized that he was not dreaming. Although completely unexpected, it had all happened: Hermione had just admitted she fancied him as much as he did her. And he was letting her sit in the mud while he contemplated the reality of this moment like a bloody idiot.

His feet maneuvered him over to where she remained on her knees, shoulders slumped and face drawn. Scabior hesitated, but only for a moment before dropping down in front of her, and reaching out his hand to lift her chin upwards so they were eye level once again. As her eyes searched his questioningly, he pushed back her sodden hair from her face. "There." He murmured quietly, his lips shaking as he smiled. "Now I can see your eyes again."

Hermione looked away, the rain and tears joining together on her cheeks. "I don't know what to do anymore."

"Do wha' you want to."

"I don't know what I want."

At that moment, Scabior wanted two things more than he'd ever wanted anything before in his entire life. The first thing was a fresh, full bottle of firewhiskey so he could down the entire thing and have that liquid courage he was so lacking at the moment. The second thing he wanted was to kiss Hermione. That was something he wanted so badly. And since it was the easiest choice of the two, Scabior reached out and brushed the back of his hand on her cheek, wiping away the drops that rolled down it; tears or rain, it didn't matter. As Hermione's eyes flickered to his, he took a chance, and brought her face gently to his until their lips met.

The kiss seemed to have startled Hermione, because he felt her flinch as he pressed his mouth over top of hers. But soon she was relaxing against him, just as he had hoped she would, and he felt his arms automatically wrapping around her body, hugging her against him so that he could provide some warmth in the middle of this storm. She gave into him completely, kissing him back with just as much force as he did and then some. It seemed they were both making up for lost time spent doing anything besides the sort.

Scabior broke away, feeling like if he didn't, his head just may explode. When he looked at Hermione, her face only inches from his, he could see that her eyes were wide but not with fright or anxiety, or anything that would have told him she regretted the kiss. No; her eyes were wide with a sort of newfound excitement and wonder, like she had experienced something new to her and was still reeling and unable to think straight. Scabior knew the feeling.

"I'm sorry." He whispered eventually once he felt he'd regained enough air to his lungs for words. "About...everythin'."

Hermione gave a sheepish smile. "I'm sorry as well."

"You didn' do anythin' wrong." Scabior pointed out, rather confused as to what she was apologizing for.

"I acted far too indifferent this morning. I should have told you how I felt the moment Orrick left the room." her eye lashes fluttered against her cheeks as she looked down, a habit Scabior had grown used to and was finding far more attractive than he'd ever thought possible. "I was just afraid that all you said had been a lie and that you regretted the kiss. You _were _drunk, after all."

Scabior tilted his head to the side, smiling lazily. "I lie about a lot of things, 'Ermione." He brushed his thumb across her bottom lip and shook his head slowly. "But I would never lie to you."

"Never?" she repeated.

"Never."

Her arms wound around his torso and she pulled herself closer to him, her head resting on his shoulder and his face pressing into the damp, sweet smelling curls of her hair. As Scabior held her, he couldn't help but feel his lips turning down. It wasn't form the freezing rain that continued to pelt down relentlessly on them, and it certainly wasn't from the uncomfortable feeling of his damp clothes. It was from something rubbing against the waist band of his pants and his abdomen; a wand that had been tucked away from safe keeping. More specifically, it was Hermione's wand. And until that moment, he had forgotten about it entirely.

From then on he would only tell the truth, but what about the secret he was hiding in his waistband, the one he'd previously lied about to her face? How was he supposed to explain that one without admitting to everything else he had done, especially having cast a spell on the storm to make it continue, to make it worse so she couldn't leave? It was incredible: he'd only just promised he'd never lie to her, and in doing so told the biggest lie he could have possibly told.

**A/N: sorry for such a short update but i've been kind of busy lately xP Anyways, here's chapter ten! Thanks again to all of you guys for reading and keeping up with the story! It means so much to me **


	11. Chapter 11

11.

**Hermione**

It was a mutual agreement between them that they wouldn't tell Orrick. On Hermione's part, she decided to keep it from him because she felt the tension between the two brothers might only escalate now that she was dating Scabior, and that was something she most definitely didn't want. She wondered how Orrick would take the news, if they were to tell him. Would he be upset with Hermione? He obviously didn't think too highly of his brother and it might reflect badly on Hermione's judge of character when he discovered their newfound relationship. Then again, she knew Orrick liked her and he wouldn't be so unkind as to turn his nose down at her decision. Still, she wasn't entirely sure what his reaction would be, and decided it best to keep it from him until further notice.

It was another ten minutes or so after she and Scabior had returned inside the cabin before Orrick finally emerged from the bathroom. He'd wrapped a dark green robe around himself and was rubbing at his damp hair with a towel, his eyes narrowed at the two people standing equally soaked in the middle of the room.

"Wha' 'appened to you two?" he asked, stopping to stare at them suspiciously.

Scabior shrugged his shoulders. "We wen' outside and got a little wet."

"I can see tha'." Orrick looked to Hermione and his face noticeably softened. "Why were you outside?"

She forced an easy going smile, the kind she'd seen on Scabior's face so often, and motioned vaguely behind them at the door they had just returned through. "I just needed some air and Scabior offered to come outside with me. It's still raining quite hard, as you can see." She laughed meekly and pulled at her damp tee-shirt, giving evidence of the obvious. Despite how lame her excuse was, Orrick asked no further questions, telling them both that he was going to go get changed before he started supper. He nodded politely at Hermione as he made his way to his bedroom but he wouldn't look at his brother. That is, until he was closing the door, and she noticed the suspicious stare he was wearing again directed right at Scabior. He was on to them.

The door had just barely met its frame before Scabior turned and reached for her, his hands finding her waist and pulling her close to him. Hermione looked up at his face, at the stretch of his lips, his dark eyes that the light of the fire danced in, and the slight stubble on his jawline. She traced her thumb over the rough skin and continued to stare at Scabior, her mind racing. She was done fighting everything she felt for him. She was done pretending that her skin didn't come alive when he touched her, or that her lungs didn't seem to collapse on one another whenever he walked into the room. She'd given in to everything that her mind and body had been begging her to do and feel ever since she got here.

"I should go get changed." Hermione murmured, making no attempts at moving.

Scabior nodded in agreement. "I should too." But just like her, he didn't break from their embrace.

They stared at each other a moment longer before he looked over his shoulder at Orrick's bedroom door. She did the same and saw that it was closed, now a barrier between two worlds: one where she was with Scabior and the other where she was forced to act like nothing had changed. As Scabior returned his gaze to hers, Hermione felt her heart tugging at the thought of Orrick reappearing soon and her having to go back to pretending she still resented the idea of being near his brother. It wasn't fair. She wanted so badly to just tell Orrick but she couldn't do that, not until she was sure of what his reaction might be. She didn't want to risk anything that would jeopardize her friendship with him.

She looked up at Scabior's face again, her eye brows pulling together anxiously. "He'll be returning soon."

"I know." He sounded just as disappointed as she felt.

Without warning, Hermione drew herself up onto her tip toes and pulled Scabior's face down to hers, pressing their mouths together. The other two times they had kissed, it had been him who'd leaned him, him who'd lead the actions of their lips with his own, but this time it was Hermione who was in control. She kissed him softly, passionately, her eyes squeezing shut as she basked in this moment for all it was worth. Scabior's lips tasted of the rain and something sweet, like tea. It was incredible and she most definitely did not want to pull away, especially knowing this might be her last chance to kiss him all night. She'd never felt this way about anyone; she'd never wanted to be so close to a man, to feel the heat of his body pressing against hers or to be around him every second of the day. Scabior was changing her perspective on everything.

His hands found the sides of her face, holding her in place as he kissed her. He's so good at this, Hermione thought to herself. She didn't let herself wonder how many girls had been in this exact place before her, though. She knew it would only upset her. Scabior was quite a bit older than her, and he'd probably had his share of women in the years they didn't know each other. But that didn't matter. Now he was giving himself up to her as she did the same, and they belonged to each other. She had to live in the moment, not dwell on the past.

Reluctantly, Hermione disentangled her lips from his, but he continued kissing her; feverish little pecks on the side of her mouth, her jaw, over her eye brows and on her eye lids. She laughed quietly and pushed on his chest until he stopped, keeping his arms on her waist all the same. It wouldn't be long until his brother joined them, and they both knew that. Even still, they didn't move away from each other, sharing a continuous smile that seemed to refuse the mere idea of being wiped off her face.

Scabior opened his mouth to speak but was silenced at the sound of a door knob turning. At once he and Hermione stepped away from each other, putting a fair bit of distance between them. She moved to stand beside the table, picking innocently at a bit of dried wax on a candle stub there while Scabior sank into the couch cushions and flipped through one of the books she had been reading previously. When Orrick stepped back into view, fully dressed, they appeared almost as complete strangers.

"You two should go get changed." Orrick suggested as he walked over to the kitchen and began rummaging in a cupboard, his back to them both. "You'll ge' a cold standin' there in your wet clothes."

Hermione nodded. "Right. Well, I suppose I'll be back in a moment then."

As she headed towards her bedroom, she looked over her shoulder at Scabior while Orrick's back remained turned, and smiled genuinely at him. In return, he winked, and she felt her cheeks flushing scarlet. She escaped into her room and pressed a pillow to her face so her squeal of delight was kept secret from the rest of the cabin. It was fascinating the effect this man had on her.

* * *

><p>At dinner, the conversation was rather short although not entirely unpleasant, but mostly between Hermione and Orrick. As they discussed the books he had given her, Scabior remained silent across the table, picking up the contents of his soup with his spoon only to pour it back into the bowl with eating it. Hermione watched him out of the corner of her eye while she spoke, wondering why he seemed so bored and lifeless. It became clear to her when he looked up at a pause in the conversation and their gazes locked. He didn't say anything, but he didn't need to; the longing look he wore said it all. Hermione cleared her throat politely and dabbed at the corners of her mouth with her napkin, turning to smile at Orrick.<p>

"That was a lovely soup."

He looked pleased. "Thank you. Care to 'elp me clean up?"

"Of course." She pushed her chair back from the table and began gathering the bowls, all empty except for Scabior's. As she reached over to grab his, he held out his hand so their fingers brushed. It was brief but enough to startle Hermione, and she nearly dropped the stack of dishes she carried from her surprise. She cast an anxious glance at Orrick, but he appeared not have no noticed as he stood at the kitchen sink, humming while he rinsed the soup pot. Hermione looked back at Scabior and gave him a warning stare. He merely smiled in return and touched the back of her hand gently, his fingers lingering. Everything inside of her came alive but she forced herself to move away from him and bring the dishes over to Orrick, trying to rid herself of the blush that had taken over her face.

She picked up a towel from the counter and began drying the wet dishes that were handed to her. It was while she was doing this that she heard Scabior's chair legs scraping across the cabin floor. A moment later she felt a body pressing against her back, and she froze, her eyes closing for a moment. When they flickered open again, she turned her head to the side and watched as Scabior dropped his bowl into the soapy sink, grinning briefly at her. She bit down on her lip hard when she felt his fingers brushing on the back of her neck, right underneath her hair where Orrick wouldn't see them. He remained there only a second longer and then continued on his way, leaving her feeling slightly naked without the warmth of his chest on her back. Hermione swallowed and rubbed the towel furiously against a bowl, her eyes growing distant and her movements going unnoticed, like she was on auto-pilot.

When they finished, Orrick commented on the heavy rain that had yet to let up, to which Hermione just murmured in agreement, hiding the fact that she hoping he would be returning to his bedroom for the night soon. Of course, since it was only just early in the evening, he did not such thing. Instead, he made his way over to the couch where her stack of borrowed books remained, and he picked one up from the stack. He asked her if she'd had a chance to read it yet, and she shook her head without bothering to check and see which one it was he held. Her eyes remained on Scabior who leaned against the opposite wall of the cabin, tugging on the hem of a navy polo shirt he'd been given to change into. When he caught her looking, he smiled gently, this proving to be a huge distraction as she missed whatever it was Orrick had been trying to say to her.

"I'm sorry," she apologized breathlessly and blinked, trying to focus on him. "What was that?"

He smiled, unfazed. "I asked if you wanted to read it together."

"Read what?"

"The book." He held it up a little higher for her to see. "There are a few good fairy-tales in 'ere I think you migh' enjoy."

Although she wasn't very much in the mood to spend quality time with Orrick, she did think it sounded like a nice idea and made her way over to where he sat, sinking down into the couch cushions beside him. As he flipped open the cover, the couch gave a quiet groan and Hermione felt Scabior sitting down beside her, their elbows pressed together from how close he was. Orrick turned his head and gave his brother a questioning stare to which he just shrugged his shoulders innocently. "Wha'? I like fairy-tales."

"Might as well let him stay." Hermione interjected quickly. "It may do him some good to actually read for once in his life."

Orrick gave an amused smile. "Right. Well, let's ge' started then."

He began reading from the book, and Hermione recognized the story as that of Rapunzel. While he spoke, telling the story in a beautiful tone that practically brought it to life right off the pages, she turned her head slightly and looked at Scabior. She only did this briefly as to not bring too much attention to them, but it was long enough for her to see the amused look he was wearing, no doubt from her comment made previously. When she looked away again, focusing on the pages while Orrick read from them, she felt his hand moving, and then he was touching hers lightly, almost feather-like. He traced the length of her palm, using his finger to draw aimless shapes and designs there before dragging it up each one of her own fingers slowly. It became increasingly hard to focus on the story, and on multiple occasions she lost track of where they were and had to stumble her way back in. By the time Orrick finished, her cheeks were flaming hot and she'd become fidgety on the couch.

"Beautiful story." Scabior commented enthusiastically as the book was closed. "One of m'favourites."

Orrick ignored his brother and looked up at the clock on the wall, his eyes narrowing. "Ah. I bes' be goin' to bed now. You two should, as well."

Hermione watched him get to his feet, stretch his arms above his head and then start towards his bedroom. Even once he'd disappeared inside and she'd returned to that second world where there was no pretending needed, she remained frozen on the couch, unsure what to do. She was afraid to immediately reach for Scabior, to lock herself in his arms like she had wanted to all night, out of fear of Orrick returning and catching them. Evidently, Scabior was thinking the same thing. He bent down and picked up the book that had been placed back on the ground, and handed it over to Hermione with a light smile.

"Read me another?" he asked, sounding so innocent she couldn't help but grin.

"Which one?"

"Any of 'em."

She flipped open the book and thumbed through the pages until she found one of her personal favourites, "Cinderella". While she read, she tried her best to mimic Orrick's dream-like tone that made the story sound so much better, but it proved difficult. She was constantly being sent off track by Scabior. He spent the duration of the story brushing her hair back away from her neck, kissing beneath her ear, playing with her fingers and other minuscule acts that were making her dizzy. When she finished, Hermione closed the book and kept it on her lap while her eyes closed and she fought to regain a normal breathing pattern.

"I changed m'mind." Scabior whispered, his lips right at her ear as his face nuzzled into her hair. "Tha's my favourite story."

"It's my favourite too." She breathed.

His fingers danced down her collarbone as he spoke. "You goin' to bed now?"

"I should, yes." Her eyes opened at once as she regained composure of her common sense. "I'll see you in the morning, then."

She stood from the couch and carefully put the book back with the stack of the rest, fully aware of the pair of eyes following her every move. Slowly she turned around and faced Scabior, lounging across the length of the couch with a lazy smile. "Good night." Hermione said.

He grinned up at her. "Night."

Hermione bent down to blow out one of the candles that remained flickering on the coffee table, but was brought up short when Scabior reached for her hand and pulled her towards him instead. He captured her lips with his and kissed her deeply, making her knees feel so weak that she crumpled against him, unable to remain upright. She felt his hands brushing her hair back away from her face, the stag head on his ring tickling her earlobe and knew that she hadn't had enough of Scabior, not tonight, maybe not ever. As shameful as she felt, she knew she wasn't ready to go to bed, not yet. But they couldn't very well stay out there in the open. They needed to go somewhere semi-private.

"Do you want to come to my room?" Hermione asked breathlessly when she got the chance to speak.

**Scabior**

For the second time in the past two days, Scabior found himself in Hermione's bedroom, except this time he was coherent and able to enjoy every minute. They brought about eight of the candles still lit in with them and set them up around the room so that a soft, warm yellow glow surrounded them. Scabior laid himself out on her bed and she crawled up beside him, their bodies mirroring one another as they stared into each other's face, their hands interlocked between them. The rain pounded heavily against the window, filling the comfortable silence. It was the first time in a long time that Scabior felt like he was doing something right for once.

"What are you thinking abou'?" he asked quietly, watching as her lips pulled back into a dazzling, shy smile.

"Why do you always want to know?"

He shrugged one shoulder lazily. "Always curious, I s'pose."

"I'm thinking about my parents."

Hearing this made Scabior think about his own for only a brief moment. It had been years since they died and about that long since he'd actually thought about them. He wasn't use how close Hermione was with her parents but his relationship with his own hadn't been exactly picturesque. They fought a lot, especially after he finished at Hogwarts and fell in with the wrong crowd. He left his parents in the dark as much as possible for their own safety, but they knew he was dealing with dark magic, and they naturally assumed he would someday cross paths with Voldemort himself. Scabior was just glad they didn't live to see it actually happen.

"Do you get along with yours?" he asked.

Hermione's smile faded slowly and she looked down, her eye lashes casting long, spider-like shadows across her cheeks. "I _did_."

"Did?" it took him a minute, but Scabior realized what she was saying and felt his heart pinching. "Oh. Are they…dead?"

"No. I... I cast a memory charm to erase their memories."

"Why?" this didn't sound like something Hermione would do.

"To keep them safe." She whispered, her eyes growing distant. "It was before Harry, Ron and I…" she trailed off slowly and Scabior waited for her to continue, although when she did, she changed the subject. "Anyway, all that matters is they're safe, and I know they are. They know nothing which is how it's supposed to be. It's better this way."

Scabior was silent for a long time, thinking about a lot of things. He was afraid to voice what kept taking over his thoughts, but he couldn't help it. "D'you know 'ow difficult it is to lift a memory charm?"

"Yes." Her voice was barely above a whisper. "It's nearly impossible without torture."

"'Ow do you plan on doin' it, then?"

"I… I don't know." He could see the sadness in her eyes that contorted the rest of her face into a pained expression. "I'm not sure if I can."

They sat in silence for a while, listening to the steady drum of rain outside. Scabior looked back at Hermione's face, sensing that she was thinking about her parents, and felt the need to distract her from it, even if only just for the night. So he lifted out one hand and brushed the back of it across her cheek until her eyes flickered to his. "'Lemme guess." He said, raising one eye brow as a playful smile danced across his lips. "You're a Gryffindor?"

"How'd you know?"

"'Is pretty obvious."

"Really?" she frowned to herself. "That's interesting. You were a Slytherin, weren't you?"

Scabior nodded slowly. "Is it obvious too?"

"A little." Hermione admitted with a shy smile. "But you're nothing like the other Slytherins I know. At least not now."

He knew she was thinking back on him chasing her, giving her over to Bellatrix; everything he'd done before she found out his motives. It bothered him to wonder what she thought of him in that time period. Did she see him as a monster? Just as bad as Bellatrix? Just thinking about it made Scabior's lips turn down and he forced himself to focus on her face to remind himself that it was all in the past now. She was in love with him, the real Scabior.

"How long do you think we're going to be here for?" Hermione asked suddenly, her eyes drifting over to the window on the opposite wall, no doubt staring at the heavy rain fall. "It's been like this for days."

Scabior recovered from the guilty tidal wave that crashed over him, and shrugged his shoulders innocently. "No idea. Could be a while. Why? You wantin' t'leave me already?" he grinned at her playfully and she laughed, shaking her head.

"Of course not. I'm just…anxious, that's all."

"About wha'?"

"Can't tell you." She whispered, suddenly serious as she locked eyes with him. "I'd have to kill you."

Scabior took hold of the belt loops on her jeans and gave a light tug so her hips rolled towards him, and he hugged her against his body, laughing. "You wouldn' kill me, 'Ermione."

"I know." She sighed into his shirt. "I'm still not going to tell you, though."

"Top secret?"

"Exactly."

Scabior narrowed his eyes at her playfully. "'Ow top secret?"

"Confidential. Strictly need-to-know."

"'Is got somethin' t'do with 'Arry Potter and tha' red hair boy, doesn' it?"

Her cheeks coloured. "Top secret, Scabior."

He stared at her face, the smile slowly slipping from his lips as everything she was saying (or rather, not saying) suddenly made sense. "'Is about you-know-'oo, then."

When Hermione said nothing, biting down on her lower lip, Scbaior sighed.

"Why didn' you want t'tell me? D'you still think of me as the bad guy, even now?"

At once, she looked up at him in alarm. "Of course not! How could you say that?"

"You're givin' me all the righ' reasons, 'Ermione. If you trusted me you would 'ave jus' told me instead of sayin' 'ow secretive it is. 'Is not like I'm goin' to run off an' tell the death eaters or anythin' like tha'."

"I know." Hermione sighed. "I'm just afraid to tell you too much."

"Why?"

"The less you know, the less they have against you." She peeked at him through her lashes, and despite how frustrated he was, Scabior felt himself melting. "You're already in enough trouble as it is."

So that's it. He was keeping it from her to protect him. That rang a certain bell. He thought of the wand hidden in his waistband, the one he told himself he was hiding in order to keep Hermione safe, and wondered if this would be a good time to share this secret as well. Would she get mad? Now that they were together, would it matter? He could stop the storm; she wouldn't run away from him…would she? He hated being so unsure, but the fact of the matter was that Hermione remained a closed book that no matter how many times he tried to open, it remained that way, keeping everything inside a secret. Her emotions and moods could change so quickly, and her reactions would reflect these. If she was mad, she would leave, and he definitely did not want that.

"I'm sorry for accusin' you." He said finally, and smiled at her as he pressed his forehead against hers. "You were only tryin' to protect me, an' I appreciate tha'."

Hermione looked noticeably relieved. "You're not mad?"

"'Couse not. Because like I said, you were tryin' to protect me." He raised his eye brows, and gave a light shrug of his shoulders. "'Ow can I be mad at you for that?"

"Thank you for understand, Scabior." Hermione murmured quietly, "It means a lot."

She kissed him then, her hands finding his tangled hair and burying themselves deep inside of it. Scabior gave in to the kiss entirely but he couldn't help letting his mind wander. He hoped that Hermione would keep what he said in mind when he finally told her about the wand, if he ever did. He couldn't stand the thought of losing her. Instinctively, his hold on her grew tighter as if he was fighting someone from taking her away. In the end, though, it would be up to Hermione whether she left or not. And that frightened him to the core.


	12. Chapter 12

12.

**Hermione**

When she woke up the next morning, her entire body felt lighter than it had in days. Hermione remained where she was, blinking tiredly at the window across the room from her bed. It was still raining. That wasn't a big surprise. She hated waking up like that, with a gray sky clapping thunder outside. When was the last time she watched the sun rise, or actually even saw the sun? Was it considered normal to have weather like this when you lived in a swamp? She made a mental note to ask Orrick about it later.

Pushing her legs out so her toes met the chilly cabin air from beneath the blankets, Hermione rolled onto her side and smiled, expecting to be facing Scabior. What she found instead was nothing of the sort. The sheets on his side of her bed held only the memory of his body; nothing more. Sitting up, she looked around the room with a quizzical expression, wondering where he might have escaped to. A moment passed where she remained upright, one hand running through her tangled hair and her eyes scanning the length of the room. Then, the sound of a handle being turned brought her attention to the doorway where she could see Scabior slipping inside quietly, holding a steaming mug in his hand. As he turned to face the bed after silently shutting the door, he startled slightly, obviously not expecting to see her awake.

"You're up." He observed with a smile after he'd recovered. "Tea?"

Hermione reached for the outstretched mug and brought it to her face, inhaling the sweet smell. "Thank you."

"I'm not sure 'ow good it'll taste. I don' make tea much."

She took a sip and smiled reassuringly at him. "Don't worry, it's great."

The bed gave a low groan as Scabior lowered himself onto it, his back hunched while he stared at his clasped hands between his legs. Hermione continued drinking and watched him over the lip of her mug, fully aware of what that look on his face meant. Knit eye brows, parted lips, a small crinkle in his forehead: Scabior had something to say. What that was, she didn't know. But it was definitely something he wasn't looking forward to sharing. And that worried her.

"Hey." She gave his shoulder a light nudge and he turned his face to look at her. "What's wrong?"

"Wha' makes you think somethin's wrong?"

Setting her mug down on the bedside table, Hermione reached out her hand carefully and began smoothing the worry lines on his forehead, smiling shyly. "You have this look you get when you're thinking hard." She explained as her thumb grazed his eye brows and they immediately relaxed. "It's okay. You can tell me what's on your mind."

He caught her hand and held it against his face, his lips kissing the palm of it before he released her entirely. "Never mind. I'm jus' a little tired, tha's all."

"Tired? Did you not sleep last night?" She wasn't about to admit it, but Hermione had fallen asleep almost immediately with his body pressed against hers, holding her to his warm chest.

Scabior shrugged his shoulders, smiling at her. "I had a lot on m'mind las' night. Also," he turned his body so they were facing each other, and reached out to brush aside some of her hair that had fallen across her face. "you're very distracting, Ms. Granger."

Just like the day before, as soon as Scabior touched her, everything inside of Hermione came alive and she couldn't help but scoot forward so the space between them was closed, and press her lips to the side of his face. "You should sleep." She murmured, her lips lingering. "You look absolutely exhausted." His arms wrapped around her, pulling her body against his as they both fell back onto the blankets, tangled together. "Alone." Hermione laughed. "You should sleep alone."

Scabior gave a reluctant groan but eventually released her and she rolled away from him, standing from the bed with unsteady legs. She needed to go walk around a little and wake up her body. When she looked back down at where she'd left Scabior, Hermione began to smile. He'd curled up into the blankets and was already snoring quietly, telling her it was time she left him alone. Careful not to wake him, Hermione exited the bedroom, and found herself face to face with Orrick.

"Good mornin'." He greeted her as her hand flew to her chest in surprise.

"Orrick! I didn't think you'd be up yet."

"I'm a bit of an early riser." His eyes flickered to the closed door her back was pressed against, and she could see the suspicion darkening his irises. "Did I see Scabior go in there?"

"Scabior?" Hermione repeated, trying to buy herself some time to make a believable excuse. But what could she say? Orrick had seen him go in there. Was she supposed to make question of his eye sight, or pretend that she had no idea what he was talking about? He was too good of a friend for her to do that. And besides, he was going to have to find out anyway. This was better; her telling him face to face.

"Yes." She admitted finally, and looked down. "Scabior's sleeping in my bed right now. He's been there all night and left this morning to get me a cup of tea."

The silence between them was so loud, so apparent, that it only added to the shame Hermione was feeling. They should have told him earlier. Hiding it from Orrick now felt completely rude. She was a guest in his house and was keeping her relationship with Scabior a secret from him, which wasn't very nice at all. He deserved to know; Scabior is, after all, his brother.

"Well." Orrick said, and she lifted his head to look at him. "I s'pose I should'a seen this comin'."

"What? What do you mean?"

He motioned to the table behind them, indicating that she sit down. As she did, she noted the tired look he wore, and the fact that he didn't seem angry with the situation. That was somewhat confusing, considering the circumstances. They'd lied to him. He should have been lecturing her on being honest, especially while under his roof. But he wasn't. In fact, as Orrick sat down across the table from her, he was _smiling_. "You know," he said, "I've known Scabior fancies you for a while now."

Hermione frowned. "A while? How long is that exactly?" she'd only known for a day or so.

"Since 'e came 'ere."

Her eyes widened, and she leaned across the table intently. "That's impossible! He couldn't stand me!"

"You're wrong about tha'." Orrick gave a small smile and shook his head. "I don' know 'ow to explain it t'you, but as soon as you two got 'ere, I could tell 'e fancied you. It was only a matter of time before 'e was ready t'admit it. My brother isn't exactly the most open person, especially not when it's abou' girls. No matter 'ow much I asked, 'e still kept 'is feelings a secret from me an' you. I'm jus' glad to see e's finally opened up abou' them."

Hermione smiled, and looked over her shoulder at the closed door. "I'm glad too."

"Mhm. Well, it's grea' tha' you two have worked everythin' out. But 'Ermione, I want you to be careful."

Her head turned at this. "What do you mean, careful?"

"I know my brother better than anyone else. I don't want to turn you off from 'im, but there's more to Scabior than jus' wha' 'es showin' you. 'Is moods change very quickly, most often without any warnin', and 'e 'asn't exactly been in the most trustworthy line of business, you know."

"I'm not sure I understand." Hermione shook her head, not following. "You're glad I'm with him, but you're also telling me I shouldn't trust him?"

Orrick sighed, his eyes lowered on the table top. "I'm sayin' you should think about wha's best for you. D'you really need to be datin' Scabior after all tha's 'appened between you two?"

"I think it's my business." She couldn't help the defensive tone in her voice. "And it should stay that way."

Without letting him plead his case further, Hermione pushed her chair back from the table and stood, turning on her heels and heading back to her bedroom. As she opened the door, she could hear Orrick standing from the table as well, but closed it before he could say anything. For a moment afterwards, she leaned against it for support, breathing heavily and covering her face with one hand, trying to think. Orrick's words were ringing in her ears, loud and demanding, and no matter how hard she tried, they just would not go away. Was he right? Everything she'd even been taught, ever experienced was telling her that Scabior was not a man to be seen as trustworthy. But as cliché as it sounds, her heart was telling her something entirely different. And this was the organ she was listening to.

Lowering her hand from her face, she looked over at the bed and found herself smiling at the image of Scabior sprawled out, his jaw hanging open as he snored. She walked towards him and reached out one hand, brushing back the hair that fell over his face. As she did this, her eyes flickered downwards, and everything inside of her froze. What was that poking out of Scabior's waistband?

**Scabior**

He'd been dreaming of her. They were standing together beneath a large tree, its branches covered in snow and trembling against the cool winter wind. Hermione commented about how cold she was, wearing only a pair of jeans and a tank top, her normally pale skin flushed pink. Scabior slipped off his jacket and handed it to her. When their fingers brushed, her eyes flickered to meet his, and all of the air left Scabior's chest. Literally. He couldn't breathe, feeling as though something was wrapped tight around his neck. He blinked once, and then Hermione was gone, the tree was gone, the world around him vanishing as well. In its place was the dark, cold room in Malfoy Manor. Bellatrix was standing before him, her wand raised and spouting the black coil that was currently strangling Scabior for the second time in his life. Except this time, she didn't release him before it choked him to death. Tighter and tighter it wound until spots appeared in front of his eyes and he couldn't remember what it felt like to breathe. When he collapsed on the ground, he was given a horizontal view of Bellatrix as she pointed her wand at Hermione, laying before her, and shouted, "_Avada Kedavra_".

Scabior sat up sharply, his eyes wide and chest heaving. First he brought his hands to his neck and rubbed at it, the painful pressure that had been there a moment ago now gone. Next, he looked around the room desperately, searching for Hermione. He found her almost instantly, sitting on the edge of the bed with her face turned away from him. There was an immense feeling of relief that rushed through him, and he fought back the images of her being killed by Bellatrix as he leaned forward and reached for her shoulder, lightly brushing his fingers against it. "Hey," he began, but wasn't given the chance to finish.

Hermione spun around to face him, her eyes damp and narrowed into accusing slits. "You bastard."

"Wha'?" he wondered briefly if he was still dreaming, but when she slapped him across the face, quick as a whip, he knew the sting in his cheek was real, definitely real.

"You know damn-well what!"

"No, 'Ermione, I don't!" he sat up now, fully awake, and stared at her like she was mad. "I 'ave no idea wha's goin' on!"

That was when she held up her hand, showing him what was clutched tight in it. A wand. More specifically, it was her wand, the one he'd been keeping hidden from her the entire time they were there. His confusion melted into a sickening feeling of regret and shame. So she'd found it. It didn't matter how, it didn't matter when; all that mattered was that she had, and that was that. There was no going back now. "'Ermione." He whispered, reaching for her again. "Please, let me explain-"

"You created the storm, didn't you?" She interjected loudly. "You did it that day you went outside for some air, but you weren't getting air, were you? _Were you_?"

Scabior looked down, ashamed, and shook his head slowly. "No. I wasn't."

"You made the storm so I couldn't leave!"

"I made it stronger so you wouldn't leave me." He corrected her with a pinched tone, unable to look her in the eye. "I… I didn't have a choice."

Hermione reached out and slapped him again, harder this time, and his head remained turned to the side from the impact. "Of course you had a bloody choice! You didn't have to hide my wand from me! You didn't have to make the storm worse so Orrick wouldn't take me to town! You didn't have to lie to me all this time! You chose to do those things, Scabior! You chose to hurt me and you chose to betray me and you chose to fool me into thinking you were actually a decent human being!"

Each and every one of her words were like another slap to his face. They hurt and stung and sunk much deeper past his skin. He knew he had to try and defend himself, to somehow convince her that his actions were all out of love, but he found his tongue was like sand in his mouth, and anything he wanted to say was sticking in his throat. How could he possibly even try to make what he had done sound reasonable? It wasn't. She was right; he was a bastard. And nothing he said was going to be able to change that. He could try though.

"I was keepin' you safe." He whispered, and looked up at her pleadingly. "If you left, Bellatrix would find you again and she would kill you."

Hermione scoffed. "What do you think I've been doing for years, Scabior? You think I've been hanging out at Hogwarts with my friends and watching Quidditch matches and having a grand old time? Well you're wrong then! I've had to take care of myself for a long time now. I've looked death in the face, I've battled evil, and I made my own goddamn parents forget me so I can continue putting myself in danger without them being put in danger as well! You don't know anything about me. I know how to take care of myself and I could have bloody-well-handled anything Bellatrix tried."

"Please, 'Ermione, you 'ave to understand-"

"I don't have to understand anything!" She stood from the bed and glared angrily at him, hot tears streaming down her face. "You are an awful man and a terrible person and I was fool to ever think I could trust you."

Ouch. Scabior swallowed the thick lump in his throat, and stared up at her desperately. "I love you, and I know you love me too."

"I don't know that I do!" Hermione narrowed her eyes. "What if you've been casting some sort of love spell on me? That would make more sense than what I've been feeling lately!"

He scrambled to stand from the bed and stood in front of her, ignoring the pinch in his chest when she took an automatic step backwards. "I 'aven't done anythin' of the sort, 'Ermione! Everythin' you've been feelin' for me is real. The only spell I've cast with your wand was for the storm, I promise. Please love, please believe me. I'm beggin' you."

For a moment, it looked like her expression was softening. "I'm sorry, Scbaior." She whispered, raising her wand. "But I can't trust you anymore. I'm leaving."

"No!" He reached out for her, desperate to keep her there with him, and found himself grabbing at the air where she had been standing. Hermione was gone. Slowly, Scabior sank to his knees, his entire body feeling like it was shrinking into itself. He wanted to run after her but he couldn't. He had no idea where she was. She'd disapparated to get away from him. She'd left him on her own accord. The realization hit him like a brick wall, and he pressed the palms of his hands in his eyes, moaning quietly.

"Scabior?" The door to the room opened slowly and Orrick poked his head in. "Someone's 'ere to see you."

His words didn't even register. "Get out!"

"But Scabior-"

"I said out!" he glared at his brother furiously. "Now!"

Without speaking, Orrick pushed open the door a little further and revealed a man standing behind him. Immediately, Scabior recognized him as Fenrir Greyback. Everything inside of him went cold and slowly he got to his feet, his eyes never leaving the man's ugly, smirking face.

"'Ello, Scabior." He stepped into the room, ducking his head to get past the door frame. "We need to talk."

**A/N: Sorry for how long it has taken for me to update! I've been so busy lately and only just today got the time to work on it! I'll fix the mistakes later, but right now I'm on my way out the door and just wanted this posted. Thanks for reading!**


	13. Chapter 13

13.

**Hermione**

She had no idea where to go.

For the first time in a week or so, Hermione was on her own and for some reason, despite the fact she'd never entirely been bothered by this before, it was now making her uncomfortable. After disapparating out of Orrick's cabin, she found herself standing the middle of a forest, much like the one she had been taken from just a week before, surrounded by thick trees with tall, bare trunks and high up branches. The ground was hard and frozen, twigs snapping noisily beneath her shoes as she stumbled, trying to regain her balance before she could fall. As she straightened up again, gripping her wand tight in one hand, she looked at her surroundings, taking in the cool air that clouded her breath in front of her face and the gray sky above her, and felt that hallow sensation of loneliness in the pit of her stomach.

"Hello?" she whispered quietly, uselessly, as she knew there was no chance of another person being nearby.

This forest held no sentimental value to her, no childhood memory that had flashed before her eyes as she had disapparated. It was, to put it bluntly, just a stupid forest she had seen in passing on the train to Hogwarts. She was sure if she walked far enough in one direction, she'd come to an opening and would be able to see the familiar tracks that would lead her back to the school. But at that moment, she felt rigid and unmoving, her entire body refusing to leave the spot where she now stood.

It was as if the clean, fresh air of the forest was allowing her mind opportunity to think properly, something it had been refused for the past week. Gone were the stuffy quarters she'd been confined to. Now that she stood in the middle of a vast expanse of trees, breathing in the cool air, she recalled her time at Orrick's cabin and felt a fire of shame spreading throughout her body. By the time she finished, every limb was filled with regret, and she fell to her knees with a pitiful whimper, wondering why she had ever acted so foolish.

Her first mistake was obviously ever putting her guard down.

She should have never put her trust in anyone, not even Scabior, although she was glad she'd held out on doing so until later. But even still, that alone was enough to make her grip the frozen dirt in her fists and give a frustrated cry, knowing that her story would bring disappointment to all who heard. She was Hermione Granger, someone who had been, on multiple occasions, referred to as the smartest girl at Hogwarts. Smart? How smart was it of her to believe someone like Scabior would have the right intentions? How smart of her was it to follow him out of that swamp, despite having absolutely no idea where he was going? Granted, she didn't know where she was going to go herself had she been left alone, but it was clear she'd relented and followed him far too quickly.

There were so many things, so many moments that were making Hermione tremble with shame that she could barely find it in herself to recall them all one by one. But there were far more important things that she needed to do. For one, she needed to find Harry and Ron.

She had to think quickly, calculating their whereabouts on the assumption that they had made it out of Malfoy Manor alive, and if so, where they would have escaped to. As she stood up from the ground, Hermione raised her wand in the air, intending to apparate into the Burrow, but then stopped herself. Would that really be the first place they would go, thus putting the entire Weasley family in danger? Ron wouldn't do that, she knew. He was far too smart and he'd realize that would be the first place someone would look for them.

So if not the Burrow, then where?

She slammed her eyes shut, forcing herself to think hard, to think like Ron. If she were him, where would she have escaped to? Where was the one place he knew no one would think to find them? The more she thought about it, the more frustrated Hermione became. She honestly had no idea. There was no place she could even think of that Ron would feel safe enough to go to-

"Wait." She looked up sharply, realizing she did, in fact, know of such a location.

The night Ron returned to them, she overheard him conversing with Harry in the tent while she kept watch outside, having still been fuming over his "triumphant" return. She heard Ron talking about a cottage, one that sat on the coast in the outskirts of Tinworth. If she remembered correctly, he recalled it as not only having once been vacation home for his family when he and his siblings were younger, but also being the place he had fled to after he'd left them.

If they hadn't been apart for an entire week, Hermione would have already disapparated to that Shell Cottage Ron had spoken of. If there wasn't a very strong possibility of them having left the cottage, she would have been there in a second. But the fact of the matter was that there was a very slim chance they would be there when she arrived and then where would that leave her? Maybe Bill and Fleur, the new owners, would be able to tell her where they went; maybe they wouldn't be able to. Did Hermione really have the time to take such risky chances?

There was only one place to go, one place where she could at least count on information, if there was any, about the boys. Lifting her wand, Hermione set her hard gaze in the distance, and a moment later, she felt the uncomfortable tug in her abdomen, the tightening of her limbs, and then she was standing in the middle of the Weasley's sitting room.

Catching herself on the back of a nearby couch, she straightened up and looked around wildly, searching for someone, anyone. The room was completely empty, but it didn't seem like it had been that way for long; the fireplace was crackling quietly with dull, lessening flames in the corner and a mug of coffee with a charmed spoon turning in it slowly sat steaming on the table, only just previously left there. Someone was in the house, she knew, just not in this particular room.

"Hello?" Hermione called out franticly, running out to the kitchen where she was met with the surprised figure of Mrs. Weasley.

"Goodness me!" her hand flew to her chest in surprise, but she didn't stop to hug Hermione as she usually would have. Instead she continued bustling around in the kitchen as she had been before she was interrupted, hastily charming dishes into the open cabinets, the sink to fill with water and wash the dirty pots that sat in it, and all of the windows to close tightly. "Hermione dear! Why on earth aren't you with Ron and Harry?" Hermione's mouth opened to respond but she was cut off with a wave of Molly's hand. "Never mind that. I haven't any time to talk, dear." She turned to face Hermione with a solemn expression. "We're on our way to Hogwarts."

Hermione's eyes widened. "Hogwarts? Why?"

Mr. Weasley came into the kitchen then as well, shrugging his coat on and carrying a wool sweater for his wife over his arm. He noticed Hermione standing stunned and nodded briskly at her before handing off the sweater to Molly. "We must be going now." He murmured darkly. "I've received word from Kingsley that we are to all meet there in precisely twenty minutes. Fred and George are already at the school with Lupin and Tonks."

Hermione's head was spinning. What was everyone doing at Hogwarts? She forced herself to stay focused on the task at hand; finding her friends. "Molly, do you know where Harry and Ron are?"

"They're at the school, dear. That's why we're all going as well. Come, come." She ushered Hermione out of the kitchen with urgent gestures, practically pushing her to follow behind Mr. Weasley. "You come with us."

"But why Hogwarts?" Hermione demanded, struggling to keep up with Molly's pace. "Why now?"

"There's a war starting." Arthur looked at her over his shoulder, his eye brows pushing together worriedly. "And we all must be there to fight."

**Scabior**

"_We need to talk."_

Fenrir Greyback stood in the middle of the bedroom, his tall stature filling up most of the small space and his rancid stench doing much the same. Scabior's nose wrinkled and his lips turned down, having forgotten what the disgusting dog smelled like in tight quarters such as these. Behind Greyback, Orrick was staring at his brother in the doorway, his eyes silently demanding an explanation. Scabior looked at him briefly.

"Orrick, d'you mind?" he returned his gaze to his unwelcomed guest. "I'd like to talk to Greyback alone."

His brother's eyes narrowed, but as Fenrir turned around to look at him, he slowly backed away, closing the door in his wake. As soon as he was gone, Scabior's face hardened. "What the 'ell d'you want, ugly?"

Fenrir continued to smirk, unfazed. "Is that any way to greet an old friend, Scabior?"

He ignored this. "'Ow did you find me?"

Reaching into the pocket of his trench coat, Fenrir tossed him something. Scabior caught it easily and looked down at what he held in the palm of his hand; it was the other half of his wand.

"Not very hard to track you even with just a broken wand." Fenrir commented with an amused tone. "Oh, and if you're wondering, Bellatrix has a warrant out for your head."

"Does she now." Scabior murmured, still looking at his wand. He wasn't surprised at all. In fact, he'd been expecting this. "So I s'pose you're 'ere to take me back to 'er so she can kill me, is tha' right?"

Fenrir chuckled. "That was the plan, yeah. But the witch had a little change of heart before I left."

Now Scabior's head snapped up, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. "Yeah? So wha's the deal now?"

"You come back without any fuss, fight in the war, and you're not punished. No questions asked. Refuse, and I get to kill you right here, right now." Fenrir's eyes seemed to grow excited at this last part, probably hoping Scabior took the second offer.

"Why would Bellatrix decide tha'?" Scabior asked doubtfully. "She gets nothin' out of it."

"Well that's not the entire deal, now is it?" Fenrir stepped closer, his grin spreading until he was smiling so widely, Scabior had a clear view of every one of his yellowed teeth. "We're fighting at Hogwarts tonight, Scabby. That's where the Potter boy and his little friends are, including that girl you took from the manor. It's simple, really; Bellatrix wants you to be the one who kills her. Or," he shrugged his massive shoulders, "if you prefer, I could kill her myself, my way. I've been wanting a taste of that pretty little flesh. It's your choice."

"So lemme get this straight." Scabior cleared his throat and recalled all he had just heard. "I live and go kill 'er myself or you kill me and 'er as well?"

"That's right. So what's it going to be?"

His answer was right on the tip of his tongue, another deal he was willing to strike up; Greyback could kill him right now as viciously as his demonic heart pleasured, and in return he wouldn't touch a single hair on Hermione's head. But Scabior couldn't bring himself to say this because he knew there was no way this deal would ever be made. Bellatrix wanted him and Hermione dead, only settling on him remaining alive if he were the one to kill Hermione. Either way, she was dying and that was something he couldn't have happen. There was only one way to make sure of it.

"Alrigh'." He said after a long pause, directing a single nod at Fenrir. "I'll kill the girl."

Fenrir didn't seem entirely sure of the response he'd received. "How do I know you'll actually do it?"

"Tha' little mudblood has put a price over m'head. If this is the only way for me to live then I'll do it."

"Thought you fancied her?" there was a hint of amusement in Greyback's tone. "We all figured you were up here with her to have her all to yourself. You been doing the dirty all week, Scabby?"

It took everything inside of him to swallow back the anger threatening to peek inside of his throat, and instead just curl his hands into tight fists at his side. He could barely manage the snicker that he forced, and hoped it seemed believable. "'Ad to take what I wanted m'self. As if the little mudblood would put out." He commented, to which Fenrir howled with laughter, shaking his head.

"I don't doubt it. Well," he clapped a hand on Scabior's shoulder, his grimy fingernails digging into his shirt. "I reckon it's all starting at sundown tonight so you better make sure you'll be there. Or," his grip suddenly tightened, and a shadow crossed Scabior's face as the wolf's nails dug deeper into his skin, "I'll come right back here to find you and finish you off myself. We understand each other?"

Scabior grimaced. "Tha' won't be a problem."

"Good. See you tonight then." Fenrir released him and a moment later, he was gone, apparating out of the room.

Scabior remained where he was, alone in the room, and let his tensed shoulders drop instantly, letting all of the breath out of his lungs as well. "Orrick." He barked, and then waited a moment before repeating himself, louder this time as if his brother wasn't able to hear him despite the small space. A few seconds passed, and then the door opened. Orrick slipped inside, his eyes wandering the length of the room suspiciously, almost as though he were suspecting Fenrir was hiding somewhere.

"I need your 'elp." Scabior said, turning to his brother with a solemn expression. "I 'ave to be at 'Ogwarts by sundown tonight and I 'aven't any way of getting there."

Orrick ignored him entirely. "Who was tha' man? Where's 'Ermione?"

"Never mind! I need you to get me to 'Ogwarts _tonight_! I 'ave to save her."

"Save who?"

"'Ermione!" Scabior exploded loudly, causing his brother to shuffle back a few steps from surprise. "I 'ave to save 'er or tha' man you just saw is going to kill 'er tonight. Please, Orrick." He took a deep breath to try and calm himself before continuing, speaking in a low, helpless tone. "Please. I know we 'aven't gotten along very well at all an' I'm sorry 'bout tha', but you 'ave to understand 'ow much she means to me, and if she dies tonight then I might as well be dead too. Please, Orrick. I a've to go to 'er."

His brother was silent for a long time, his eyes focused on Scabior's with an absent expression. Scabior gave an impatient sigh and was about to turn and leave until Orrick finally spoke, his voice so low, so quiet that Scabior had to lean forward to be able to understand what he was saying. "Elizabeth." He said, his eyes lowered on the floor. "'Er name was Elizabeth."

"Who?" Scabior asked. "An' what does that 'ave to do-"

"She was my girlfriend, a mudblood jus' like 'Ermione." Orrick's gaze turned distant, his eyes moving to focus on something behind Scabior's head. "She lived 'ere with me for quite some time, about six or seven years, I think. We were 'appy an' alone, just the two of us." The corners of his mouth lifted, but only slightly, to form a shaky smile. "Sometimes when I read 'er books, I think I can almost 'ear her reading them t'me like she used to. She'd read one story every single night." His smile faded slowly until it was a bitter frown. "She was the love of my life, Scabior. The only woman I ever saw m'self with. An' then, the muggle-born registration commission was founded. They came after 'er, snatchers like you, because she refused to go with them to the ministry. They took 'er from me." His voice began to tremble. "They took 'er an' they killed 'er. You said I didn't know anythin' abou' love, well you're wrong. I know love and it was people like you who snatched it away from me."

Had he never met Hermione, Scabior knew he wouldn't be feeling this loud ache in his heart. He knew he wouldn't have cared the least about his brother's confession. But the fact of the matter was that he had met Hermione, and he had fallen in love with someone who was being hunted down by the ministry for being born. For a moment, Scabior remained silent, staring at Orrick with his mouth clamped shut. He let himself wonder what it would feel like to be sitting on that couch in the front room with Hermione, to have his arm around her shoulder and be listening to her read, and then to have monsters like him burst in and snatch her away from him.

Scabior blinked slowly. "Orrick…I didn't…I didn't know-"

"I know you didn't." His brother interjected sharply. "You couldn't 'ave. You weren't 'ere to do the job yourself; you were too busy snatchin' someone else from the people who love them."

"It's not like tha'."

"It's not?" Orrick's eyes narrowed and he stepped closer to his brother, looking down on him. "You mean you could tell me right 'ere, right now tha' you didn't take wizards and witches from their 'omes? You could look me in the eye and say tha' you 'aven't listened to someone beg you to let them stay, jus' like my Elizabeth did, and ignore them completely?"

Scabior swallowed. "Orrick-"

"Look." He put his hand up, silencing him. "I'm not tellin' you this for any sympathy. I'm tellin' you because although I can't stand you, an' wha' you do, I love 'Ermione. An' I don't want to see 'er get 'urt." He looked at Scabior for a moment longer before turning to move towards the wardrobe sitting on the other side of the room. Spreading the doors apart, he revealed a wardrobe of vibrant clothing. There was the faint smell of lingering perfume, something Scabior wondered if was left on the clothing from the last time Elizabeth wore them or if his brother had continued to spray them so they would keep the same scent. Either way, he felt something inside of him twisting at his heart, squeezing it until he felt like he couldn't breathe.

"This," Orrick murmured, his shoulders tensed and back to his brother, "is 'er wand."

When he turned around, he was holding a thin, black wand in the palms of his hands like a broken bird and was staring down at it with an expressionless gaze. Scabior watched his Adam's apple bob as he took hard swallows, and then Orrick looked up at him, his eyes dead and hooded. "I want you t'take it with you."

Scabior's eyes widened. "Wha'?"

"You 'eard me: take 'er wand. I know 'Ermione took yours because she's not 'ere and 'ow else would she 'ave gotten out of this room?" Orrick thrust the wand into his brothers hands, waiting until his fingers curled around the cold wood before letting go of it and bringing his arms back down to his sides. "Go, Scabior. Go find 'er. You love 'er an' I don' care 'ow many times you deny it, I know you do."

"I'm not goin' to deny it." Scabior whispered, looking past his brother at the window where the rain was still pelting angrily against the glass. Slowly, he brought the wand up and pointed it, murmuring quietly under his breath. A moment later, the rain stopped completely. The clouds broke apart and the sun shone through, warming up the cold bedroom almost immediately.

"You're running ou' of time." Orrick commented, his face turned towards the window as well. "Tha' man isn't goin' to wait on you forever."

"I know. I'm leavin' right now."

Scabior was ready to apparate to the school, but something stopped him. He looked at the wand, at the worn parts of the wood from where fingers gripped it tight as they directed a spell. Then he looked at the open mouth of the wardrobe where hangers after hangers of clothing hung and would never feel the warm embrace of their owner again. Finally, Scabior looked at his brother, at the tall man who watched him go off to Hogwarts and didn't complain, who helped him study his spells when he came home, and who lost the best thing that would probably ever happen to him because of people like Scabior.

"I'm sorry, Orrick." Scabior whispered, his face twisting with a mixture of pain and remorse. "I'm sorry I wasn't around more. I'm sorry I'm the sort o' person who took your Elizabeth from you. I'm a disgustin' person but I'm workin' on it." Ignoring the confused expression his brother wore, Scabior stepped forward and embraced him, hugging him for the first time in God knows how long. "I'm so sorry."

There was an awkward pat on his shoulder, and then Orrick said, "It…it wasn't you who took 'er."

"But it might as well 'ave been."

Orrick gently loosened Scabior's hold and held him at arm's length. "Don't, Scabior. Don't worry abou' tha' now. Go find 'Ermione before that 'airy man does."

Before he left, he kept his hand hovering in the air, gripping the wand tightly and looked evenly at his brother. He opened his mouth to apologize again but knew it would only be dismissed, as it was last time. So with a curt nod, he disapparated.

**A/N: YES. Before you say anything, _yes_. It has been a long time since I updated and I am so sorry about that. The last two months have the busiest days of my life: there was school work (piles of it) two funerals, a wedding (not mine xP) and just so many things getting in the way.**

**This chapter may feel rushed, and lacking description. I realize that this is probably one of the worse chapters I have ever written but I just needed to update so you guys didn't think I'd lost interest in the story! So here is your awful update! In the next couple of weeks, I've got a huge English project to do. And then June is exam month for me. That being so, I'm not sure when chapter fourteen will be up. Maybe next week (If I'm diligent!) or maybe not. You'll just have to wait and see :)**

**To Chepseh:**

**I loved reading your review! Good or bad, I really enjoy reading long comments and thank you so much for all of your helpful advice! I'm not sure if i've exactly made you proud in this chapter but I will definitely work harder on the next! again, thanks for the comment!**

**And thank you ALL for reading! Truly, thanks!**

-**DeanWinchesterxoxo**


	14. Chapter 14

14.

**Hermione**

"Step down carefully, dear. Onto the ladder, that's a good girl."

Hermione followed Molly's instructions as she descended down the rickety wooden rungs, mindful of the situation and the hurry they were in. Once finished and safely on the ground again, she took in her surroundings –the hammocks hanging low from the ceiling, blankets scattered across the cobble stone ground and the books and papers that littered the rest of the space. She instantly recognized it to be the room of requirements, and that it had been previously occupied by a large population. Judging from the mess, it must have been students.

She looked over her shoulder as the rest of the order filed out of the tunnel they'd just clambered through from Aberforth's home in Hogsmeade. A lot had happened in a short span of time that Hermione had been forced to keep up with rather quickly, the first being that it was this man, Aberforth, that Harry had been seeing in his shard of mirror rather than Dumbledore himself. It wasn't hard to make the mistake, though. The two brothers looked shockingly similar.

He explained to Hermione that he had seen Harry's face in the mirror Mundungus Fletcher had given him, and when they were in trouble, he had sent Dobby the elf to Malfoy manor to save them. Hermione tried to remember seeing Dobby at the manor that night and couldn't. Apparently, while she was enduring Bellatrix's wrath on the top floor, Dobby was emptying the cellar of its occupants to Shell Cottage. This part was filled in by Bill Weasley and his wife, Fleur, who'd arrived at Aberforth's home when Hermione and Mr and Mrs. Weasley had.

"And Dobby was killed?" Hermione had verified with a tremble in her voice, imagining the elf lying limp in Harry's arms, as described to her.

Fluer gave a sad nod of her head. "Yes. 'E was very brave. 'E saved all 'zose people in 'ze cellar of 'zat 'orrid place, but could not escape death 'imself."

Hermione swallowed the thickening lump in her throat and forced the saddening thought out of her mind. "So Harry and Ron made it out safely. Then what happened?"

"Well,' Bill pushed some of his thick, russet locks away from his eyes and looked at her solemnly, "they'd overheard Bellatrix going on about her vault when she was torturing you, so Harry figured there was something she didn't want you to find in there, specifically, they hoped, a horcrux. They made a deal with Griphook, who was resting in a room in our cottage, that if he got them into Gringotts, he would receive the sword of Gryffindor. He, of course, agreed."

Hermione's eye brows pushed together. "How could they have gotten into Bellatrix's vault? Security at Gringotts couldn't possibly allow it."

"That's where Fleur came in." a smile spread across Bill's face as he wrapped an arm around his wife's shoulders and pulled her forward proudly. "It was her idea, actually, to use a hair of Bellatrix's we found on Ron's coat sleeve. I created the poly juice potion that she and Ron both used. She turned into Bellatrix, and he into another death eater. Harry and Griphook were hidden underneath the invisibility cloak."

"So all went well then." Hermione looked between Bill and Fluer expectantly, who were exhchanging uneasy glances. "Didn't it?"

Fluer looked down at the ground shyly. "It was my accent 'zat tipped 'ze goblins off 'zat I was not 'oo I said I was. Luckily, 'Arry thought quickly and used zee Imperius Curse on one of ze goblins, Bogard, so 'e would let us into zee vault. From 'zere, everything would 'ave gone fine if not for ze Thief's Downfall."

"It washed away all previous spells." Hermione concluded with a dreary tone. "So you became you again, and Bogard regained his memory."

"Not only 'zat," Fluer continued, shaking her head, "but we were also dropped from ze cart we 'ad been taking to ze vault, sirens sounded, and ze security showed up. When we finally got to ze vault, 'Arry said it was 'Elga 'Ufflepuff's Cup zat was the 'orcrux. 'Zere was some sort of curse on all zee objects in ze vault, because as soon as we touched 'zem, 'zey all multiplied."

"The Geminio curse." Hermione murmured quietly. Her forehead creased with worry. "Well, did you get the cup?"

Fluer nodded. "_Oui. _We managed to get out on 'zis dragon zat was guarding ze vault. It was _incroyable_! We jumped off it into ze water, went to shore, and from 'zere I apparated back to ze cottage to get Bill."

"Where did Ron and Harry go after that?"

"'Arry said he saw Voldermort in 'is mind, and 'e was focusing on 'Ogwarts and Rowena Ravenclaw, so he guessed 'zat was where ze next 'orcrux was. Last I saw 'zem, 'zey were apparating to 'Ogsmeade."

Hermione knew the rest of the story from that point: the boys showed up, alarms were set off, Aberforth hid them away in his home and had Ariana fetch Neville to lead them through the secret passageway into the school. It was all quite exciting to hear and put together, and Hermione felt herself smiling with pride towards Ron and Harry. They'd done a terrible lot without her help.

Now standing in the Room of Requirements though, waiting for everyone to finish entering as well, Hermione felt shame turning her lips down and knotting her stomach tightly. So while Ron and Harry were out finding horcruxes, nearly being killed and riding on the back of a bloody _Dragon _for goodness sake, she was sitting in a comfortable cabin and snogging with a snatcher. How could she have been so foolish?

"Hermione, dear?" Molly finished her descent on the ladder, the last of the bunch of them, and looked at her with a flushed face. "Are you ready?"

Looking past Mrs. Weasley, Hermione took in the crowd of people surrounding her; Bill, Fluer, Arthur, Fred, George, Lupin, Tonks and Kingsley. She wondered if any of them were thinking about the war that lay ahead of them, and the causalities that were surely to come with it. All of them were wearing solemn, nearly stern expressions. Even the twins, who were usually grinning about something were not smiling in the least. So that answered her question. Everyone knew what accompanied war, and that was loss.

"Yes." Hermione whispered, pushing her shoulders back and grabbing her wand from her pants pocket. "I'm ready."

They set off down the long stretch of corridor outside of the Room of Requirements, their foot steps echoing loudly in the empty enclosure. Hermione had never witnessed Hogwarts so quiet, so dark, all of the candles that usually lined the halls now extinguished. She refused to think about how terrible the year had been for those inside of the school, although it wasn't hard to imagine from the stories she'd heard from Aberforth. The Carrow twins who'd been placed in charge of discipline apparently took their jobs extremely seriously.

At they came upon the closed doors of the Great Hall, Hermione noticed Ron leaning up against a nearby wall, his arms crossed over his chest and eyes set on the ground. Hearing their approach, his head snapped up, looking immediately at Hermione.

"'Mione." He whispered under his breath, and then he pushed away from the wall and ran full tilt at her, nearly knocking her over had his arms not wrapped around her body and steadied her. "You're alive." He pressed his face into the hair at her neck, squeezing her tightly. "Thank God, you're alive."

Hermione's cheeks flamed as his family watched them curiously. "I'm fine, Ron. Don't worry."

"He didn't hurt you, did he?" Ron pulled away abruptly, a dark shadow crossing his features. "If he touched you, I swear I will go find him and-"

"Ron." She braced her hands on his shoulders, giving him a light shake. "We've got bigger things to focus on right now, don't you think?"

He still looked furious. "Where were you this whole time? Were you with him?"

"Yes." Hermione admitted, surprising herself. She'd figured she would try to hide this fact from him but her answer had come easily and rather quickly, like she'd been planning on telling him the whole time. "But we can talk about it later. Right now we need to focus on this." She motioned at the closed doors to the Great Hall, where Snape's low voice was emanating from. The group surrounding the doors fell quiet and listened to his muffled words.

_"Many of you are surely wondering why I have summoned you at this hour. It has come to my attention that earlier this evening, Harry Potter was sighted in Hogsmeade. Now, should anyone, student or staff, attempt to aid Mr. Potter, they will be punished in a manner consistent with the severity of their transgression. Furthermore, any person to have knowledge of these events who fails to come forward will be treated as equally guilty. Now then, if anyone here has knowledge of Mr. Potter's moments this evening, I invite them to step forward, now." _

Silence ensued, during which Hermione felt her breath being locked away inside of her chest as she waited. Then there was the sound of gasps rippling throughout the crowd of students. A moment later, Harry's voice carried through the doors to the wizards waiting outside of it.

"_It seems despite your exhaustive defensive strategies, you still have a security problem, Headmaster." _

"That's our cue." Ron murmured, straightening away from Hermione and bracing his shoulders.

Using the palms of his hands, Kingsley pushed open the doors of the Great Hall, causing more gasps from the students as the group revealed themselves to Snape and the rest of Hogwarts. Hermione kept near the front of the pack, her eyes remaining on Harry until he noticed her and looked at her as well. She gave him a slight nod which she hoped he would translate as, "I'm O.K, everything's fine." She couldn't tell though, as he'd returned his attention to Snape as soon as everyone was inside of the hall.

"How dare you stand where he stood." His voice was trembling with anger, echoing against the empty walls of the room and practically slapping Snape across the face. "Tell them how it happened that night. Tell them how you looked him in the eye, a man that trusted you, and killed him. _Tell them!_"

Barely a second passed after Harry finished before Snape reached into his black robes and retrieved his wand. In that time, McGonagall managed to push Harry out of the way and stepped in his place, her own wand raised and pointed at Snape. The spells they cast at each other clashed and sputtered, neither doing the damage the caster wished it to. As McGonagall advanced on Snape, he shrank back until he was at the tall windows that overlooked the entire hall. And then, without a word, he turned on his heels and became the thin black cloud that Death Eaters travelled in, crashing through the glass of the window and disappearing into the night.

"Coward!" McGonagall cried after him, still throwing spells in the direction he'd left. "Coward!"

She turned around and faced the students, her wand raised above her head as she illuminated the candles that had been hanging empty and thick with dried wax above them. The Great Hall was lit up in its usual glory, and Hermione felt her lips pulling back into a smile at the sight. Students erupted into cheers but soon fell silent as a cool breeze snaked through the entire room and the candles were extinguished as angry, dark grey clouds overtook the ceiling.

A shrill scream coming from a girl caused Hermione to jump, having not been expecting anyone to break the silence that had fallen. She looked around with the rest of the students until she found the source of the noise; a young first year huddled against the corner of the room, her hands clapped over her ears and face contorted with what could only be described as pain as she continued to scream.

That was when another scream erupted, this one louder and more shrill than the first year's. Hermione swung her head around, trying to find the source of this scream as well, but was interrupted when a voice filled her head, almost as if the person was standing right next to her, whispering into her ear.

_"I know that many of you want to fight." _The colour drained entirely from Hermione's face as she recognized the voice to be Voldemort's. He continued speaking, his voice low, raspy and echoing inside of her head. _"Some of you may even think that to fight is wise. But this is folly. Give me Harry Potter. Do this and none shall be harmed. Give me Harry Potter and I shall leave Hogwarts untouched. Give me Harry Potter, and you will be rewarded. You have one hour." _

Hermione couldn't breathe. Her chest feel tight, uncomfortably so, while Voldemort's words reverberated in her mind. She couldn't help but take a survey of the room, at the horrified expressions on the young students' faces. They were all thinking the same thing, she was sure: there was no way they were giving up Harry, so who was going to be lost in the war tonight?

Apparently, though, not everyone shared her sentiments.

"What are you waiting for?" Pansy Parkins stepped away from the crowd of Slytherin students, her beady black eyes narrowed on Harry. "Someone grab him!"

Ginny was the one who moved to cover Harry first. Then Ron, then Hermione, and then all at once, a flock of students crowded around him as well until he was shielded from Pansy's view. Hermione kept her hard gaze on the girl, daring her to try and break the guard they had put up.

"Students out of bed!" Came the cockney, harsh voice of Filch as he jogged lopsidedly towards McGonagall. "Students in the corridor!"

Minerva scowled at him. "They're supposed to be out of bed, you blithering idiot!"

"Oh." He stopped jogging and looked uneasily around him at the students. "Sorry, ma'am."

"As it happens, Mr. Filch, your arrival is most opportune. If you would, I would like you please lead Ms. Parkins and the rest of the slytherin house from the hall."

His eye brows pushed together, not understanding. "And…and where is it I'll be leading them to, ma'am?"

"The dungeons would do."

As the entire Slytherin house was paraded out of the great hall, a round of applause erupted from the remaining students. Hermione felt movement behind her, and then the shield broke as Harry approached Minerva, speaking fast and quickly as he explained that he needed time to try and find the horcrux.

"Hey." Ron came up beside Hermione, his hand warm on her shoulder as he turned her to face him. "You alright then?"

"Yes, of course Ron. You can't expect me to falter from a mere capture, now can you?"

He didn't smile. "I was worried about you. I never stopped wondering if you were okay, if you were alive…" he trailed off, letting a thick silence fall between them. Hermione's eyes lowered onto her shoes, unable to look directly at her best friend. Shame. Nothing but shame and remorse flooded her limbs, coursed through her veins, coloured her cheeks and demanded she admit the truth. _Just tell him. You fell in love with a snatcher. _

"Hermione?" Ron bent his legs slightly, bringing himself down to her height in an attempt to capture her averted gaze. "Did something happen while you were captured? Did he do something?" his face was flushed with anger. His hands were curling into fists. Hermione couldn't bear to look at him and forcer her head to shake "no".

"Then what's wrong?" he demanded, sounding annoyed. "You won't look at me."

"I'm…I'm just anxious. About tonight. People are going to die, Ron."

He visibly relaxed, if only slightly, and nodded his head. "I know. It's terrible isn't it? I mean, you look around and you see all of these kids, eh? First years, second years… they shouldn't have to be exposed to any of this. It's monstrous."

Hermione's stomach was twisting into tight knots at the thought of the causalities that were going to come from what lay ahead. Would first years die? Would Ron? Would she? Suddenly overwhelmed, she leaned against the cold stone wall of the Great Hall and felt Ron doing the same, their shoulders pressed together and fingers brushing each other lightly. Without warning, he took hold of her delicate fingers in his warm hand, and gave a gentle squeeze, reminding her that he was there, and he wasn't going anywhere.

**Scabior**

"Right on time." Fenrir smirked as Scabior approached, the descending sun backing him. "I was almost hoping you wouldn't show up, but I'm glad you did all the same."

Ignoring the wolf, Scabior continued his trek up the incline of the hill, his eyes focused on the silhouette of Hogwarts sitting in the distance. Hermione was there, but where exactly? Was she somewhere safe? He groaned inwardly. No, of course she wasn't. She wasn't the type of girl to sit in the shadows and watch. She would be right in the middle of the fight, right where he couldn't get to her, or protect her.

Scabior stopped walking as he reached the top of the hill, surrounded by hundreds and hundreds of death eaters. He didn't look at any of them, or listen to the hisses of conversation hat were occurring. He mostly didn't want to know what they were most excited about that night; killing children or seeing the Dark Lord kill Harry Potter.

Boots crunched the dead grass behind him, and a moment later he was overcome with the rancid stench of Fenrir's breath. "Bellatrix has been asking about you." He said, an obvious smile in his voice. "She wants to make sure you still understand your little arrangement for tonight."

"Of course I do." Scabior snapped, turning to face him with a dark expression. "'Ermione's life for m'own. I'm not an idiot."

Fenrir just smiled. "I just hope you know not to back out of this. You've made some bad decisions recently. One more and you're Bellatrix's problem."

Scabior remembered his dream from that morning, of having Bellatrix's snake coil wrapped around his neck without relenting until he was killed. He reached a hand up and rubbed at his collarbone that was suddenly feeling sore. "That won't be a problem, Fenrir. I assure you of tha'."

"Good. So you find the girl before you do anything else, kill her, bring the body to Bellatrix-"

"I 'ave to bring the body to 'er?" Scabior interjected, unintentionally sounding shocked.

Fenrir's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Obviously she'll want some sort of reassurance that the job is done. That going to be a problem?"

Scabior recovered quickly with a dismissive shrug of his shoulders. "'Course not. I'm just thinking about the state the girl might be in. Maybe Bellatrix won't want to see a bloody corpse, is all."

"I'm sure she'll be alright." Fenrir said. "So, you bring the body to her when you're finished, and then you're expected to join the fight with the rest of us."

Turning his face back towards Hogwarts, Scabior nodded absently and began wondering just how in the hell he was going to pull this off. He most definitely wasn't about to kill Hermione, that was for sure. But he needed to stay alive to ensure that she did as well. So what about the corpse aspect? He couldn't very well just pick up a dead body at random and try to convince Bellatrix that it was Hermione.

It was at that moment then a harsh light scattered Scabior's vision, and he threw up his arm to protect his eyes from it. When he lowered it a minute later, Hogwarts and the area surrounding it had been enclosed entirely inside of a glass-like orb. A force field.

Fenrir gave a disdainful snort. "Do they actually believe a little shield will be able to keep the Dark Lord from getting into their school? What a bunch of bloody idiots."

Almost as if on cue, the massive crowd began to part right down the middle, making way for Voldemort himself as he slowly walked to the top of the hill. Scabior turned and looked at him only briefly before noticing his companion. Bellatrix in return shot him a smirk and a wink before hurrying to catch up to her Dark Lord as he stood still, surveying the castle with an almost amused smile.

And then he chuckled. "They never learn. Such a pity."

Someone standing beside Scabior broke from the crowd, hesitantly approaching Voldemort and speaking with a trembling voice. "B-but…but my Lord, shouldn't we wait?" as Voldemort turned to face him with an agonizingly slow pace, the man bowed respectively and hurried to return to his place in the group.

Returning his gaze to Hogwarts, Voldemort waited a moment before speaking again. "_Begin_."

One by one, the death eaters surrounding the Dark Lord retrieved their wands from their robes and began sending spells into the air, thousands of them arching through the black sky to land on top of the globe surrounding the castle. Each and every burst of light had a great effect: the shielf was obviously weakening.

"Oi." Fenrir's elbow harshly jutted into Scabior's ribcage. "You heard him."

In any other situation, Scabior would have retaliated, but he could feel Bellatrix's eyes on him, waiting for him to follow the Dark Lord's orders. With a quiet, inaudible sigh, Scabior pulled Orrick's wand from his jacket and pointed it into the sky. His spell joined the thousands of others, exploding against the crumbling shield much to Voldemort's delight.

As he continued shooting spells, Scabior's chest deflated greatly, his shoulders slumping and face crumpling as well. His thoughts kept returning to Hermione who was somewhere inside of Hogwarts, ready to fight, unaware of the deal Scabior had made. He had to save her. He had to get to her before Bellatrix did and he had to convince the witch that he'd done his part of the compromise. But _how_?

**A/N: hey guys guess what? I FINALLY UPDATED. **

**My god it has been way too long since I posted a new chapter. I apologize for that! I should have been more diligent over the summer because it's not like I was working every day, so I can't use "work" as an excuse xP I was just lazy and didn't feel like sitting down to write anything. I was always up and moving, going places, trying to make the best of it :)**

**So anyway, here is chapter 14. Better late than never right? I'm not sure when I will have fifteen posted. I've got school tomorrow, and I'm working all day Saturday, so depending whether or not I'm also working Sunday, I'll try and get some major writing in on that day.**

**Thanks again to everyone who has been keeping with this story and (more importantly) putting up with me and my lack of updates! **

**-DeanWinchesterxoxo**


	15. Chapter 15

15.

**Hermione**

The school was hurtled into a fit of chaos. Students shoved their way past Hermione in an attempt to catch up with friends and family members. No one wanted to be left stranded alone. She allowed herself to be thrown against the hard walls in the hallway and shrank into them so those in a hurry could get by. She had no idea where she needed to be at the moment. Harry had some sort of plan of his own, and had rushed up the stairs a moment before with Luna trailing behind him. Ron was close, standing in the middle of the hall as he scanned above everyone's heads, but was having a hard time letting the students get by his broad frame.

After awhile, he exhaled impatiently and pushed himself up against the wall beside Hermione, their shoulders pressed together and legs touching. She could feel his warmth seeping through his clothes and into hers. She could see his chest rising and falling with erratic, frightened breaths. And she could smell the familiar scent she'd spent so many years surrounded by sitting in front of her nose. But her heart didn't skip. It didn't go faster. Nothing in her body felt the jerky, breathless sensation of excitement from his proximity.

_Because he's not Scabior_, a voice in her head whispered.

Hermione looked down at her shoes and swallowed angirly. _Shut up._

_Remember how it felt to have him beside you? To have him hold you? _

The voice was getting too loud. Hermione kicked away from the wall angrily and nearly sent a third year student toppling into his friends. She didn't know where to go. But she needed to get away, to think for a second.

"'Mione?" Ron was at her side in a second, his hand tentatively touching her shoulder. "You alright?"

"Fine." She gasped, looking around the hallway wildly and feeling quite claustrophobic from the swarm of students. "I just need some air."

He looked around them as well, and then leaned closer to her face until his nose was brushing at the hair against her ear. "I've been thinking about how we're going to destroy the horcruxes. You know, once we find them. And I think I've come up with something quite bloody brilliant, if you ask me."

Hermione side-stepped away from him, her temples pounding and eyes growing fuzzy. "Great, Ron. That's great. You go do that and I'm going to see if they need any help with the shield outside."

He frowned at her. "But I haven't even told you my idea yet."

"I'm sure it's bloody brilliant, just like you said." She pushed her way into the wave of students coming up the corridor, turning her head so she could say one last thing before she disappeared among them all together. "I'll see you soon, Ron!"

It was like she couldn't escape fast enough. Having put a safe distance between herself and Ron, she broke away from the students and continued down the hallway herself, feeling in her pocket to make sure her wand was still there. As soon as she touched the outline of it, she thought about how it felt to see it in Scabior's hands, to have him admit that he'd had it all along and was using it to keep her in the cabin. Her cheeks flushed with anger all over again. What a dirty, disgusting bastard of a man.

_He was protecting you_.

The voice caught her off-guard. She'd thought she had hid herself of it.

_Bellatrix would have found you. You know she would have._

"Stop it." Hermione whispered, rounding a corner and coming to the doors of the school.

_If he hadn't made the storm worse, Orrick would have taken you to town. You would have tried to leave, to make it on your own. You would have fallen into one of their traps._

She could see the teachers standing under the collapsing shield, furiously shooting spells up in the air to try and keep it in tact. But there were more Death Eaters sending spells to destroy it, and they were obviously winning. Hermione felt sick to her stomach. With a shaky hand, she raised her own wand, and tried her best to repair the shield as well. But her spell did nothing. Every part she repaired was shattered again as a Death Eater furthered the damage.

"Hermione." Mrs. Weasley was suddenly at her side, ushering her away from the scene. "You can't be out here. It's too dangerous."

Her warnings fell uselessly in the air between them. Outside was too dangerous? Hermione wanted to laugh bitterly. Where was it safe then? Inside of the school, where all the students were panicking? Where the fight was going to occur? Where children would die and walls would collapse and nothing would be the same? As far as she was concerned, outside was just as "safe" and the inside of the castle was.

"I need to help." Hermione said firmly, twisting to get away from Molly and to stand in front of her. "I need to protect my school, and all of the people in it."

Mrs. Weasley gave a shaky smile that didn't reach her eyes. "We all do, love. But now's the time to go inside and let the guards protect the doors." She moved slightly so Hermione could see the troupe of cement knights readying themselves in front of the school. They were positioned with their weapons held at the ready and heads turned towards the sloping hills just across the way from the castle, where all of the Death Eaters were gathered. Hermione looked up there as well and felt something inside of her give a harsh pinch. Was Scabior up there too?

There was a violent shudder on the ground beneath them, and then a loud shattering sound from above. Hermione looked up just in time to see the last of the shield collapsing like broken glass, leaving the school and everyone in it exposed.

"Inside." Molly instructed, giving Hermione no time to object as she lead her up the stone steps and into the school. "We must be ready to fight."

**Scabior**

The shield was all but gone. It just fell from the sky, raining down onto the castle like sparks from a fire. Scabior watched it with a bitter feeling in his chest. What now? What would Voldemort instruct them to do now that there was practically nothing stopping them from getting inside? Around him, Death Eaters lowered their wands and exchanged excited looks. Even the more solemn men who rarely showed emotion looked pleased with the thought of what was to come.

Fenrir straightened his shoulders and nudged Scabior harshly. "You ready for this, Scabby?"

He kept his gaze emotionless and didn't respond.

"Oh come now, you can't pretend you haven't been waiting for this like the rest of us. We're finally doing it, eh? Finally getting rid of this Potter boy once and for all."

The strange thing was, the bitter seed Voldemort had planted inside of all the Death Eater's hearts, making them loathe Harry Potter as much as he did, wasn't growing anymore inside of Scabior. He felt nothing. No excitement, no rush of adrenaline at the triumph everyone else around him was anticipating. In fact, he felt sorry for the boy. He felt sorry that this kid, probably just shy of eighteen, maybe not even, was about to face the Dark Lord on his own. Perhaps he would die. Perhaps he wouldn't. But either option came with its own casualty; if he were to live, he would be living with the death of his classmates, their lives torn from them during this battle, on his hands for the rest of his miserable life.

"Reckon we better head down to that bridge over there." Fenrir said. "The shield is almost entirely destroyed and you'll want to get into that school to find your little girlfriend eh?" there was obvious mock drenching his voice, but Scabior wouldn't let him have the satisfaction of seeing him affected by it. He gave a disinterested shrug of his shoulders and retrieved his wand from his pants pocket.

"I'll lead." He announced, and without waiting to see who would follow, he began down the slope of the hill towards the bridge.

It was like everyone had been waiting for one person to take charge: there was a stampede of boots behind Scabior, following in his wake down the hill. He felt Fenrir come up to walk beside him, and ignored the ugly stench of man that he knew was going to be acting as a shadow for the duration of the battle. Bellatrix had no doubt instructed him to follow Scabior so as to ensure the death of Hermione. That, or to be ready to kill Scabior himself when he was unable to do just that.

"Have you thought about how you'll do it?" Fenrir asked.

Scabior knew instantly what he was referring to. He kept his face straight ahead, struggling to control the flurry of emotions that demanded to cross it. "I reckon I'll just use the killin' curse."

"Not even going to torture her a little? If I remember correctly, you always liked to tease 'em."

An uneasy sensation was making Scabior's lips turned down. He couldn't bear the thought of torturing Hermione. He recalled the sounds she had made while Bellatrix had a hold of her at the Malfoy's, and shuddered inwardly. Once upon a time he wouldn't have even blinked when asked to do the same to someone. But once upon a time he didn't know Hermione, and now that he did, everything had changed.

"I'm just goin' to get the job done." He replied after a moment's pause to calm himself. "No torturin', no playin'."

Fenrir shrugged his massive shoulders. "Fine. Just remember, you've got to bring the body to Bellatrix after its done."

"I know."

Of course he knew. The thought hadn't left his mind for a moment. He still had no idea how he was supposed show Hermione's dead body to Bellatrix and keep her alive at the same time. He could do a curse to make her appear dead. That might work. But would it be strong enough to fool the witch?

"You're not backing out, right?" Fenrir asked, taking his silence as uncertainty. "Because you know that if you don't kill her, Bellatrix will have you both killed."

"I know."

"She'll let me do it myself, too."

"I know."

"I'll kill you off quickly, I think." Fenrir mused aloud. "But for the girl…well, I'm planning on having a bit of fun with her."

Scabior's eyes darkened. "Fuck off, dog."

There was a chortle of amused laughter from beside him. "Testy, are we?"

"I'm not bein' testy. I just don't see the point in actin' like I'm not goin' t'kill 'er myself."

Fenrir looked unconvinced. "Really. Well you just make sure that happens then, or you and that pretty little girl of yours are mine."

They had almost reached the mouth of the bridge. Fenrir looked over his shoulder at the mass crowd of death eaters that had followed them, and then nudged his elbow into Scabior's ribs. "On my count, we start running. Got it?"

Scabior rolled his eyes. "Sure."

"You're the leader. Lead your people."

He couldn't honestly expect him to battle-cry. "You're more of a leader than I am, mate. You do it."

Fenrir slowed down noticeably, his eyes narrowed on Scabior. "You don't seem too eager to get into that school, Scabby. It's almost like you don't want to go kill the mudblood."

He didn't respond.

"Is that it then? Should I go kill her myself, nice and slow as planned?"

Fenrir's words were ripping holes through Scabior's heart. He swallowed tightly, and picked up pace a little. "It's goin' t'be on my count. One…two…three…_charge_!" he broke out into a run, and heard the death eaters behind him join his cry and hurry to keep pace with him.

The closer they got to the bridge, the stronger Scabior felt. Perhaps it was the fact that he was running, or because he literally had an army of men following him. But he felt larger than life. He felt like he could find Hermione in no time and have her back in his arms. They would plot as to how they could fool Bellatrix into thinking she was dead. Granger was smart; she would know a way.

A few men came up from behind Scabior and passed him. Caught up in their run, they didn't notice the shimmer of light in front of the entrance to the bridge. Scabior did though, and recognized it instantly to be what remained of the shield. He stopped suddenly and grunted as he felt the force of a few hundred men ram into his back. The three who had passed him didn't stop running and were disintegrated as they ran head-on into the shield.

By then the whole troupe had stopped running and were standing a cautious distance away from the bridge. Scabior fought to catch his breath, flicking aside the tangle of dark hair that had curtained his face. There was only one way into the school, and that was over the wooden bridge. But there was no way that was going to happen unless Scabior fancied himself a nice barbeque. So how was he supposed to get in there and find Hermione?

Frustration coloured his face red. "The shield is still active o'er 'ere."

"Reckon we'll have to wait until it's all gone then." Fenrir leaned forwards and peered angrily at the ripples in the space in front of them. "No idea how long that'll take, though."

Scabior turned in a slow circle, his hands gripping at his scalp as he fought to stay calm. He'd gotten this far. A stupid little shield that was already crumbling wasn't going to keep him from going any farther. All he needed to do was figure out a way to let the rest of it vanish so he could continue on.

"Is that a student?" Fenrir asked, bringing Scabior's attention abruptly back to the bridge.

He couldn't tell whether he was relieved or disappointed that it wasn't Hermione making her way towards them. Rather, it was a tall, awkward looking boy with a bashed up face and wide, terrified eyes. He seemed to realize, upon taking in their wide girth from him and the fact that none of them had stepped foot onto the bridge yet, that the shieldw as still active.

"Yeah?" He called out, bouncing up and down excitedly as he mocked them. "You and what army?"

Scabior didn't feel any effect from his taunting. His eyes were set on a little shard of glass cascading down from above them, slowly and listlessly, like a feather. When it landed on the ground at the toe of his boot, it vanished, leaving a small rain of sparks in its wake. Raising his eyes, Scabior squinted at the mouth of the bridge, looking for the ripples. There were none; it was just air. No shield. That must have been the last of it.

Cautiously, Scabior took a step forwards…and then another, and another, until he was standing with two feet planted firmly on the wooden bridge. He began to smile. The shield was broken. And now there was nothing standing between him and the school.

Well, except for the boy.

Scabior looked at him, his eyes burning a hole right through the kid's chest. "Move." He instructed with no hint of an alternative in his voice.

And the kid moved. Fast. He turned on his heels and sprinted away from them. Scabior broke off into a run after him, trusting the kid to lead him to the entrance of the school. Behind him, his army followed, shooting wild spells towards the student. In return, he shot his own over his shoulder, but they all fell short and went over the rails of the bridge. _Stupid kid,_ Scabior mused to himself as he watched this. _What does he possibly expect to accomplish when-_

That was when the first blast sounded.

Scabior nearly stopped running when he heard the explosion, and then the terrified screams of men from somewhere behind him. He forced himself to continue though, only faltering slightly as he cast a quick glance over his shoulder. The bridge was collapsing, taking down with it all of the death eaters trailing at the back of the charge. Those wayward spells the kid had been casting were intentional; he was lighting fuses underneath the bridge.

Terror ripped through Scabior as quickly as the bridge's devastation was occurring. With each blast, each new set of screams, he felt himself running harder, breathing heavier, doing everything in his power to get off that bridge and back to Hermione. He was at the front so he had some sort of advantage, if only a little one. But how long would that last until the explosions caught up to him? How long until the ground came out from under his feet, and he was the one falling?

When he looked to his left for Fenrir, Scabior was not the least bit surprised that he was gone. He'd probably apparated away when the bridge started crumbling. That would have been a good idea. Now Scabior couldn't possibly do the same, not without stopping and focusing. And then he would either be trampled by the frantic stampede of men behind him, or perish with them as the last of the bridge crumbled. He had to keep going.

The boy was gaining a lead. Scabior was falling behind. Every bit of hope, every bit of determination he had summoned from somewhere inside of him was gone. He could feel the ground beneath him trembling. Soon it was going to be gone. He lost. He failed. He was never going to see Hermione again.

When the final explosion sounded, it echoed and reverberated in Scabior's ears. He didn't think about anything else as he fell; his mind was on one person and one person only: Hermione.

_I'm sorry. For everything._

* * *

><p><strong>AN: First of all, I want to apologize profusely for my lack of updates. I've been a lazy shell of a person since school started up again. I started, restarted, edited and re-edited this chapter four times between my last update and now. I know it probably doesn't seem "perfect" by any means, but I figured if I didn't post it now, I never would.**

**I'm going to try extremely hard to be more consistent with my updates from now on. This chapter was boring, but the next few won't be, I assure you. So keep checking in everybody! Chapter 16 should be on it's way soon!**

**I also just want to quickly say a very sincere thanks to all those keeping up with my story and, more importantly, putting up with me. I love you all and appreciate you reading it! KEEP CHECKING IN FOR UPDATES EVERYBODY!**

**WonderfullyStrange801**

**(oh, I should probably mention that I changed my penname. Hope this doesn't cause too much confusion for anyone!) **


	16. Chapter 16

16.

**Hermione**

When the actual fighting began, Hermione was wandering the halls alone, her wand trembling between her fingers and her body feeling like a hollow shell. She knew she should go find Ron and Harry, but she just couldn't bring herself to face them, not yet anyway. She still felt shame heavy in her limbs, and wasn't ready to answer all of their inevitable questions. So she just continued her aimless wandering. That is, until the tall windows lining the halls exploded, raining down shards of glass onto the students below.

Black cloaks snaked in through the empty panes and transformed into Death Eaters, their wands spitting out curses as their bodies formed. Hermione ducked into a small alcove to the left of her just as a spell whizzed into the wall where she had been standing. She nearly lost her grip on her wand as more and more Death Eaters began to show. Their spells continued to fly and children fought to get to the other end of the hall, where it seemed to be safer. Death Eaters appeared there as well and blocked off the exit. There was no choice but to fight. Fight or be killed.

Hermione shakily raised her wand and looked around for a target. It wasn't hard at all to find one; four black cloaks were making their way towards her. She shot two in the stomach and missed the third as he approached. While she readied herself for a second curse, he lifted his own wand from inside of his cloak and aimed it at her. And then he crumbled to the ground, pile of lifeless black cloth, to reveal Ron Weasley behind him.

"Ron!" Hermione exclaimed, feeling great relief at the sight of him.

He looked at his wand, at the man at his feet, and then at Hermione. "Bloody hell."

She hurried over to where he stood rigid, pausing only to duck so a wild spell could fly over top her head. Perhaps now isn't the best time to talk, she reasoned to herself. Turning on her heels, she faced a Death Eater head on as he was casting another curse. She dodged it and then threw her own curse, watching as it hit him and his body doubled over onto the ground.

"I've got basilisk fangs!" Ron shouted to her over the noise. "I broke into the Chamber of Secrets and got as many as I could carry! They're stashed in the boy's lavatory."

Hermione faced him and frowned, momentarily forgetting the battle that was occurring around them. "The Chamber of Secrets? How on earth did you get in there?"

"Parseltongue. Bloody butchered it." He laughed, and then threw his arm out to push Hermione to the side as he cast a curse at the Death Eater who had been approaching.

Hermione stumbled into the wall and then caught herself, straightening up just in time to see this happen. She couldn't wrap her head fully around this new "Ron Weasley". In the five minutes he'd been with her in the hallway, he'd knocked out more Death Eaters than she had. His spells were perfect. They arched through the air and hit their targets head-on, not a single misfire in sight. When had he garnered these new skills? It was exciting but a little unsettling too. She felt herself missing the awkward, gawky Ron who would be more likely to ask for her help than fight on his own.

Was that it then? Was she missing his need for her assistance? She felt a certain ache in her heart at that thought. In their time apart, he must have learned to fight on his own. He would have had to with their absence, especially during their trip to Gringotts. Ron was independent now. Well, he'd always been. But there had still been a part of him, before anyway, that looked to Hermione for answers and for their next moves. Now he was the one pushing her out of the way to save her.

"The fangs destroy horcruxes." Ron explained quickly. "The cup we got from the vault is with the fangs. We need to get over there and destroy it."

Hermione just stared at him. So that had been his "brilliant" idea earlier. Well it was. It was bloody brilliant and he'd come up with it on his own, without her help or input. Why was she feeling so unneeded and useless?

She forced a smile when he faced her again. "That's great, Ron. Really great. I'm so proud of you."

For a moment, they held each other's gaze, his lips spreading back into a soft smile the longer they stared. But when Hermione had to knock out a Death Eater over his shoulder, the moment was gone right away and they returned to the fight.

* * *

><p>After they had destroyed the cup, Harry hurried into the lavatory to meet them, breathless and conveying quickly what the ghost of Ravenclaw had told him. He'd concluded that her diadem was hidden somewhere in the Room of Requirements, and he told them they should go now to find it. Ron was instantly on his feet, his newfound pride and "go-for-it" attitude painfully apparent. Hermione wasn't so quick, though. She hesitated on the cold tiled floor, surrounded by the thick, black substance that had poured from the point of the cup where she'd stabbed it with the fang.<p>

Ron looked down on with a puzzled expression. "'Mione? You coming?"

She fingered a loose thread in her jumper, avoiding looking him in the eye. A part of her _did _want to go help. She was just as determined to find that horcrux as they were. But another part of her, a shamefully stronger part, wanted to go rejoin the fight and see who she would meet along the way.

In other words, she wanted to find Scabior.

The whole time she'd fought Death Eaters with Ron, she couldn't help herself from looking at their faces with the subconscious hope it would be him. She'd thought a lot about their blowout, and each time she did her anger was refuelled and felt fully justifiable. But then she forced herself to move past that moment, and think instead about the night before, when they'd been lying on their sides facing each other, pouring out their hearts for the other to see.

"_You're not mad?"_

"'_Couse not. Because like I said, you were tryin' to protect me." He raised his eye brows, and gave a light shrug of his shoulders. "'Ow can I be mad at you for that?"_

"_Thank you for understanding, Scabior." Hermione murmured quietly, "It means a lot." _

He had forgiven her when she revealed she had kept something from him. He'd justified her actions for being for his sake, and were therefore forgivable. So how did that make what he did to her any different? Hermione's wand had been kept a secret from her so as to keep her from storming out, like Scabior had rightly assumed she would have. She would have left immediately, apparated to Hogsmead which she only now knew was heavily guarded. She would have been caught and sent to Bellatrix who wouldn't have been so forgiving this time with just a few words carved into her arm. She would have killed her, slowly and painfully.

Sure, he'd kept her from her friends for a whole, unnecessary week. But he'd saved her from Malfoy Manor. He'd kept her from being caught and handed over to Bellatrix a second time. He taught her that not every Slytherin has a cold heart, and some are capable of expressing love to a muggle born, like herself. He'd made her laugh. He'd made her cry. But he'd also shown her kindness and love and kept her out of harm's way.

"Hermione?" Harry was staring at her as well, his eye brows raised and body leaning ever so slightly towards the door. "This isn't really something we can just sit on and think about for awhile. It's now or never."

How very true that was.

**A/N: HEY HEY HEY! So I know this is super short and super terrible. I also know I told you I would update more frequently and that wasn't something I really did. Sorry about that. But no excuses this time. I was just plain lazy. **

**I wrote this during my spare today and now there are only...TWO MINUTES LEFT (uhoh better get this posted soon!). So, I am VERY sorry about the lack of updates and the lack of length of this chapter partnered with the lack of quality. I'll try better next time, which had better be sooner than later because I'm starting exams in two weeks and need to really focus on these ones.**

**Anyways, hope you all had a great Christmas, an awesome New Years, and hope you enjoy this short, terrible update WEEEE FOR QUALITY WRITING! 3**

**thanks again to everyone following my terrible story!**

**-WonderfullyStrange801**


	17. Chapter 17 END

**A/N: hey guys, just really quickly: I wanted to let you know that there is a bit of a time jump here. I didn't want to just spring it on you that we went from one part in the book to another in the span of one chapter, so this is your warning. There IS a fair bit of a time jump. I know it makes me sound super lazy but I only really intended this fanfiction to be like…five chapters? And this is chapter seventeen and this is the last one. **

**THAT'S RIGHT GUYS. THIS IS IT. THIS IS THE LAST CHAPTER.**

**So, in summary, this chapter starts quite a bit later than the last. I've tried to follow the movie in terms of timing and events for the final Hogwarts battle. But just to bring you guys up to speed, the following has already happened: the room of requirement scene, the scene in the boathouse with Snape, Fred's death, Harry's death in the forest, Harry is revealed to be alive.**

**I know that's a HUGE jump but in order to fit all that I wanted to fit in this chapter, I had to do it. UGH I'M SO SORRY! I know it makes me sound incredibly lazy and I hate myself for doing this but it had to be done, y'all. Hope you don't think less of me. OK. Read on.**

17.

**Hermione**

For the first time in a long time, Hermione allowed herself to think about her parents.

She wondered where they were, and who they were with, and if they were safe. She pictured their faces as she'd last seen them recognizing her: one night before she'd cast the curse. They had been seated at the table during tea. Her father's glasses were lowered onto the bridge of his nose as he looked over them at Hermione. _Did you remember to wash the dishes this afternoon? _As she shook her head no, he'd smiled. _That's alright. I'll help you when we're done eating. _

Her mother had been sitting at the head of the table with a newspaper spread out in place of her plate, scanning the words with a puckered forehead and clucking her tongue at what she read. Every so often, she gave a comment to which Hermione would sympathize and agree with her opinion. Her mother looked pleased when this happened. She'd nod, look back down at her paper, and continue reading silently until something else felt necessary to be read aloud.

Now, standing with her back against a cold stone wall as she shot spells at Death Eaters, Hermione wondered, if she were to die, whether they would ever find out. As far as they were concerned, she didn't exist. And neither did witches or wizards. She would die and they would never know or care. They'd continue on with their lives, blissfully unaware that their only daughter was dead.

They would drink their coffee together in morning, discuss the weather and if it was warm enough to put the coats away in the closet… Life would go on while somewhere in the world, a life was gone.

Hermione swallowed the regret in her throat. She needed to focus.

To her left, Luna and Ginny were keeping back the approaching Death Eaters, but they seemed to keep multiplying. It was as though every time they fell back, more came. Hermione tried to keep up with them, but that was hard. It was three verses hundreds. Even with the students and professors fighting alongside them in the Grand Hall, it was painfully obvious they were losing. Harry's grand reveal that he was still alive started a fire in everyone's hearts, though. Hermione knew she, like everyone else in Hogwarts, was going to fit until the very last moment, even if it was a losing battle.

"Look at this!"

Hermione's entire body went rigid at the voice behind her.

"It's the little _mudblood_!"

Her arm began to throb. She pressed it against the sleeve of her jacket and felt her entire face darkening.

"Bellatrix." Ginny breathed, looking over Hermione's shoulder and confirming who she had known to be standing behind her.

Slowly, very slowly, Hermione turned around and faced the witch full on. The world didn't stop, as she had expected it to when they finally looked each other in the eye again. People kept fighting. Spells continued to be shot. The only thing that stopped was the fear racing through Hermione's veins. She wasn't scared anymore. She was staring at Bellatrix Lestrange and felt nothing but determination. The time to be scared was over.

Bellatrix's eyes narrowed as her lips pulled back into an ugly smile. "How's the arm, girlie?"

Hermione said nothing. Her eyes lowered to the wand Bellatrix held loosely in her hand, half raised at her hip. Why hadn't she killed her yet? Why was she waiting, teasing Hermione? Almost instantly, Hermione felt stupid for wondering. Of course she was delaying it. That was what Bellatrix did. That was how she killed her victims: painfully slowly.

"This war is taking casualties from both sides." Bellatrix said softly as she began to circle around Hermione. "I've killed your friends, you've killed mine. But I think this is the first time someone's been killed who played for _both our sides_."

Something in the way she said this made Hermione's eyes flicker to hers. "What are you talking about?"

"I knew that'd catch your attention." Bellatrix stopped circling her and stood right in front of Hermione, her smile widening. "Think hard, mudblood. Who do you know that has worked for Voldemort…_and _against him?"

_Scabior…no. She's lying._

"Ah." Bellatrix purred. "Come on. Say his name out loud. Let's hear you say it."

Hermione felt cold. She wanted to crawl into a crevice in the floor and hide and pretend nothing the witch was saying was getting through to her.

"You're not going to say it?" Bellatrix sighed airily. "Fine. I will."

_Please no._

"It was Scabior. Your little boyfriend." For a moment, Bellatrix said nothing, watching as Hermione's face began to crumple slowly. Then, she whispered, "I watched him die."

In that moment, Hermione had two options: she could fall to the ground when her knees gave out (as she felt they were about to) and sob (as she felt she was about to), thus leaving herself vulnerable and available for Bellatrix to kill.

Or, she could avenge the man she abandoned, who had never abandoned her. Until now. Because of _her_.

Hermione moved quickly. She cried out as she shot a killing curse at Bellatrix, but the witch was just as fast to deflect it. So Hermione shot again. It was deflected with a cackle. Hermione shot again. This time, Bellatrix's smile began to fade at the force that was going into each curse fired. When she deflected the next one, she looked angry. The next one, she returned her own curse, screaming out her displeasure as Hermione was able to deflect it.

"I loved him!" Hermione cried, throwing her wand and curses every which way. "He was the only man I ever loved and you _watched him die_!"

Bellatrix was falling back, her deflections growing weaker and weaker. "If I had the chance I would have done it myself!"

That was the tipping point for Hermione. She charged at the witch, her wand flying and shooting uncontrollably. She had never let out such a loud scream but it was barely registered. She continued to shoot and Bellatrix continued to back up, retreating from the curses that were becoming more and more frequent. She deflected most, but one curse in particular slipped past her and hit her right in the middle of her chest.

Bellatrix collapsed instantly, her head making an ugly _crack_ noise as it made contact with the cement floor of the Grand Hall.

As soon as she witch was dead, Hermione fell to her knees, her wand falling from her hand and rolling somewhere away from her. All at once, her body deflated and she curled around herself, mourning quietly. The battle continued around her but for once, she wasn't bothered. Some Death Eaters, distracted by Bellatrix's death, had stopped their own fighting, thus giving their opponent the opportunity to finish them off. Eventually, the students and teachers of Hogwarts outnumbered them, and the remaining Death Eaters retreated out the windows in the black clouds they had entered in.

Hermione looked at Bellatrix's gaunt, lifeless face, and felt no remorse. Somewhere inside of her, she recognized this to be a dangerous side effect of her grief, but she ignored it. In her mind, the witch was still alive because she could still hear her voice, echoing and taunting in her ears:

"_I watched him die."_

Scabior was dead.

Scabior…her Scabior…was gone.

* * *

><p>Victory tasted bitter sweet in her mouth. As the rest of Hogwarts fought to comprehend Voldemort being dead, she secluded herself to the ruins of the bridge outside, staring out at the rising sun. Her hands were scraped, her hair knotted, and her entire body was recommending she sleep and never wake up again. But Hermione forced herself to remain conscious as she sat against the rubble, tracing the vine pattern on her wand absently. She forced herself to feel the immense grief weighing her down.<p>

It was her fault Scabior was dead.

The more she thought about it, the more it became true. Had she not left Orrick's cabin, had she not overreacted and apparated away, Scabior would not have had to chase her. It was because of her that he left the safety and seclusion of that place. It was because of her he came to Hogwarts where there was a price on his head. It was because of her he was not there and she knew that realization would always stay with her.

"Hermione?"

She didn't turn to look at him. "Hey Ron."

"You out here all alone? By yourself?"

"Yeah."

"Why?" he sounded genuinely puzzled. "I thought you'd want to be with everyone else inside."

She squinted at the sun that was getting higher up in the sky and shrugged her shoulders, not answering his question. After a moment of silence, he crouched down beside her on the ground and began picking up pieces of rubble. As he tossed them over the edge of the devastated bridge, he sighed. Hermione knew he was itching to say something but he was putting it off. She decided to do it for him.

"Scabior saved me from the Malfoy's."

Ron stopped what he was doing. "What? Who's Scabior?"

"He was the snatcher that led the chase in the woods that day." Hermione brought her knees up underneath her chin. "The one with the dreads and my scarf?"

When Ron continued to remain silent, she peeked at him from beneath her lashes and found him staring at his lap, his eye brows furrowed and jaw working. It was obvious he remembered Scabior. But he wasn't saying anything and that was making her nervous. She continued speaking, doing enough for the both of them as she babbled.

"Bellatrix was carving into my arm with her wand, Ron. I nearly passed out from the pain. And then it was gone. _I _was gone." Despite herself, Hermione felt her lips pulling into a shy smile as she remembered. "Scabior apparated us to his brother's cabin. He saved me from Bellatrix and kept me safe. That's where I was; with him and his brother, Orrick."

Ron cleared his throat loudly. "So you stayed with the man that kidnapped you?"

"He saved me too, Ron."

"_After he kidnapped you_."

Feeling defensive, Hermione turned and looked at him, her eyes narrowed. "You keep saying that like I don't know. I realize he kidnapped me, Ron. I was there when it happened. But he also kept me from being tortured further by Bellatrix and maybe that doesn't sound like such a big deal to you but it does to me. It's the sort of event that makes you reconsider a person's character."

Ron actually rolled his eyes at this. "Oh so he used a little magic and you threw yourself in his arms, is that it?"

"No. As a matter of fact, that most certainly is not _it." _she could hardly believe he was reacting this way. "I didn't throw myself in his arms, Ronald."

"So you didn't fall in love with this bloke then."

Hermione opened her mouth, and then in snapped shut again.

At once, Ron's face fell flat. "Please tell me you didn't."

"I-"

"Bloody hell, Hermione!" He jumped to his feet and began pacing in front of her, his hands grabbing at tufts of his hair and pulling aggressively. He looked like he was at war with himself, and although she felt like she needed to say something, _anything_, she just didn't know what. So she let him continue his pacing until he calmed down enough to speak. Eventually, he did.

"I can't believe you." He whirled on her with an exasperated look. "I can't believe you ditched us for the same man who gave us over to the Malfoys!"

Hermione stood up then, tired of him talking down to her. "You say it like I had a choice!"

"Didn't you? You chose to say with him! You could have left any time you wanted!"

"That's not true, Ron! I thought my wand was broken! We were in the middle of nowhere and it was raining and Orrick couldn't take me to town until the rain stopped!"

Ron scoffed. "Are you telling me it rained for a whole week?"

"Yes! Scabior put a curse on the rain to ensure it kept going!"

"He cursed the rain? So you couldn't leave?"

It sounded a thousand times worse when she heard it aloud. Hermione swallowed a tight lump in her throat and didn't respond, her arms crossed defensively over her chest. She could feel her anger pounding in her temples and her face going red. How could she possibly explain herself to him without sounding as pathetic as she felt?

Ron spoke first. "You realize that means he kidnapped you _twice_, right?"

"He was doing it to protect me."

"From what? Being with your friends? Having a life?"

"From Bellatrix. From being killed or worse, tortured relentlessly."

She couldn't help the bitter snap in her voice. Ron recognized it immediately and fell back a step, staring at her face like he didn't know her at all. It made her feel sick. But she didn't stop talking. She kept going.

"I know it sounds like I betrayed everyone, and myself. But staying with Scabior where it was safe, even if I didn't know at the time it was him keeping me there…was the best thing that could have happened to me." Hermione spoke quickly and breathlessly. "I may have been tricked into staying but I did stay and that's all that matters. If I hadn't, I would have been caught. I know I would have because the first place I would have gone to find you and Harry would have been a huge mistake. And if you hate me for loving the man who took me from you then fine. But I just want you to know-"

She didn't get the chance to finish. Ron closed the gap between them in two strides and captured her face between his hands. For a moment, he just held her like that, gasping erratic breaths against her cheeks and staring into her eyes. And then, he pressed his lips overtop of hers in the most mouth-crushing kiss Hermione had ever experienced. It wasn't gentle. It was urgent and determined, like he was trying to prove something to both of them. Hermione let him continue for a minute longer before breaking away and taking one step back, putting a comfortable space between them again.

"Don't." she whispered as he tried to reach for her again. "I know what you're doing. Please just…don't."

Ron looked defeated. He sank down onto the hard ground and let his long legs spread out eagle in front of him. Without looking at Hermione, he whispered, "I thought…if I kissed you…it would feel different. I thought it would be like it was when I held your hand before, or when you accidentally brushed against my shoulder."

"But it's not like it was before." Hermione finished for him sadly. "Is it?"

He finally looked at her, his eyes rounded with sadness. "No. Nothing is. When I kissed you just now, it was like I was kissing Ginny. It was so wrong. I wanted it to be something else and it wasn't. I'm sorry, Hermione. For…everything. If you love this Scabior bloke then you just go be with him."

Hermione's heart crumpled in her chest. "Thank you, Ron. But I can't. He's…he's gone."

She didn't have to elaborate. The look on Ron's face told her he knew exactly what she meant. Climbing to his feet, he held out his arms and she walked into them, finally letting herself cry. She cried for the man she lost and the love she'd finally felt and pushed away. She cried for the hole that had been ripped open in her heart. Mostly, she cried for the life she wouldn't have now. She knew that she'd always be plagued with the death of Scabior that sat on her shoulders, on his hands.

"I hate this." She whispered against Ron's neck. "I hate not knowing how he died or when or by who."

He rubbed her back soothingly, holding her close to him. "Wouldn't that just make it worse?"

"I don't know. That's the whole point!"

She cried harder, realizing all of the things she didn't know. A list was made in her head, all about Scabior. What his dreams were, where he waned ot go in life, what books he liked and what movies he didn't…. The worst one? She didn't even know if "Scabior" was his first name or his last name. And she never would know.

When Ron suddenly went cold and stiff against her body, Hermione figured it was because he was uncomfortable. So she pulled away from him and wiped at her tears, fully ready to apologize for losing herself like that to him. But when she looked at his face, she saw he wasn't looking back at her. He was looking at something behind her, something that made his features hard and defensive.

Hermione was afraid to turn around. But she forced herself to, and when she saw him standing among the rubble and the broken cinder, she figured she had gone completely and utterly insane. So she blinked five times in a row and closed her eyes, fully believing that when she opened them again, he would be gone.

But he was still there.

He was there.

He was alive.

Scabior.

She began to wring her hands together quickly, her teeth snagging onto her lower lip to stop it from quivering. Something was stopping her from running to him. She knew right away it was fear of him disappearing as soon as she tried to touch him. She wanted him to stay like that, twenty feet away from her, if it meant he wouldn't leave again.

Ron touched his hand to Hermione's shoulder. "You…you going to be alright? With him, I mean?"

She nodded wordlessly. So Ron could see him. That was a good sign.

"I'll…uh, leave you two alone then." He lingered for a moment, still sizing Scabior up with his defensive gaze, before retreating back into the school.

For a long time, Hermione remained where she was, staring at him across from her and not moving. He just stared back. And then, hesitantly, he began to walk towards her. He took slow steps, prolonging the moment when they'd be standing face to face again. When he finally was, she could see his face more clearly, and the fear on it. He was scared she was going to leave again. Neither one of them believed the other was here to stay.

"'Ello beautiful." Scabior whispered, and that was all it took.

**Scabior**

_Arresto momentum._ How he had thought of the spell while plunging to his inevitable death, he'd never understand. It was one of those things that just happened without any sort of explanation, but it also didn't need one. What was the point of questioning his curious memory when it had led him back to her?

As soon as she threw himself at him, he caught her and spun her around, holding her so tightly he felt like she was sinking into his chest. He couldn't get over the fact that she was against him again, that he could feel her in his arms and know she wasn't going anywhere. If he could have stayed like that forever, he'd be perfectly content. Because he had Hermione, _his _Hermione.

Eventually, she pulled away and looked at his face, her head shaking back and forth slowly. "You're not dead."

"I'm not dead."

"You're alive."

"So are you."

"I'm…" she looked down at the ground shyly and he realized just then how much he had missed that about her. "I'm sorry for leaving. I'm sorry for getting mad. I realize you were just trying to protect me and I shouldn't have overreacted."

He hated that she felt like she needed to apologize when she had done nothing wrong. So he started shaking his head, ready to protest this, when she pressed her finger over his lips, stopping this.

"Let me go first." She said quietly. And when he nodded, she drew her finger away and continued.

"The reason I reacted like I did was because I felt betrayed. I had given you my trust and you deliberately broke it. It was extremely hard for me to finally feel safe with you, and no longer question your motives or reasons. And then…" she trailed off, looking as though she'd swallowed something bitter. "and then just a day later, I found my wand. It felt like all I had worked towards was worthless and stupid. _You_ made me feel stupid."

He was done listening. "I never meant t'make you feel stupid, 'Ermione. I was-"

"-Just trying to protect me." Hermione finished for him with a shy smile. "I know that now. I've done a lot of thinking since I left, Scabior. And I remember you forgave me when I kept secrets from you, because you said I was only doing it to protect you. That's why you kept my wand from me. That's why you kept the storm going. And I forgive you."

Her words elevated him with relief. Scabior gathered her close to his body and hugged her, his eyes squeezed shut and arms refusing to let her go. "I'm sorry too." He breathed against her ear. "I'm sorry tha' I'm a selfish, lyin' asshole who wanted to keep you to 'imself."

"Bellatrix said you were dead." Hermione whispered into his shoulder. "She said she watched you die."

"She watched me _fall_. I didn't die."

"Fall?" she pulled back to frown worriedly up at his face. "Fall from where?"

"The wooden bridge. Some kid blew it to bits while I was tryin' to run across it an' get t'you."

"How could you possibly survive that?"

Scabior cocked an eye brow and grinned. "Why, with a little bit of good luck an' a whole lot of magic, dear 'Ermione. I used _arresto momentum _and it stopped me midair before I could fall. Bloody fast thinkin' on my part."

Hermione touched a hand to his face, her thumb grazing over the stubble on his jaw. "I'm having a hard time believing you're real."

"Want me t'prove it to you?"

Before she could answer, Scabior kissed her, his mouth moving over hers slowly but firmly as he showed her just how alive he was and felt. Her arms wrapped around his neck and held his face to hers. He could feel the longing in her movements, in her kiss as she returned his, and although they'd only been apart a day or so, it felt like an eternity.

When Hermione broke away, she was blushing fiercely, and Scabior couldn't help but brush his hand over her rouged cheeks, having missed them terribly.

"I just have one question." Hermione whispered breathlessly as she stared up at his face.

"Anythin'."

"Is Scabior your first name or last name?"

"Neither."

Hermione frowned. "What?"

"'Is my middle name."

"So…" she bit onto her lower lip. "What's your first name?"

He debated not telling her, but soon realized he'd had enough secrets to last him a lifetime. "Dalton."

At once, Hermione's face broke out into a smile and she pressed her lips against his briefly. "Nice to formally meet you, Dalton."

**A/N: THAT'S ALL SHE WROTE, FOLKS…. "she" as in "me" x) Just want to give a big thank you to everyone that put up with me and kept up with the story that took more than a year to finish; one of my longest running fanfictions EVER. So thank you all and I hope this ending was satisfying! PEACE**

**-WonderfullyStrange801**


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